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LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

MRS.  DONALD  KELLOGG 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/authorsdigestwor05john 


AUTHORS  DIGEST 


THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  STORIES  IN  BRIEF,  PREPARED 

BY  A  STAFF  OF  LITERARY  EXPERTS,  WITH 

THE  ASSISTANCE  OF  MANY 

LIVING  NOVELISTS 


ROSSITER   JOHNSON,  Ph.D.,  LL.D. 

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF 


AUTHORS  PRESS 


ISSUED    UKDER   THE    AUSPICES    OF   THE 

AUTHORS  PRESS 


Tills  is  Volutne  V  of  a  complete  set  of  the 

AUTHORS    DIGEST 

Consisting  of  Twenty  Volumes^  Issued  Strictly  as  a 
Limited  Edition.  In  Volum^e  I  will  be  found  the  Offi- 
cial Certificate^  under  the  Seal  of  the  Authors  Press ^  as 
to  the  Limitation  of  the  Edition^  the  Registered  Number 
of  this  Set^  and  the  Name  of  the  Owner. 


m 


AUTHORS    DIGEST 


VOLUME  V 


SYLVANUS   COBB,   JR. 

TO 

JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER 

Uncas  taunted  his  captors  and  dared  them  to  do  their  worst 
{The  Last   of  the  Mohicans,   p.  it'6) 

Hand-pamteJ   photogravure    on    French    Plate -£x2per.    after    an    original    drawing 
ide  for  this  edition  bv  H.  Jl.  Malhes 


mac 


Issued    under  the  auspice^   of  the 
AUTHORS      PRESS 


AUTHORS    DIGEST 


VOLUME  V 


SYLVANUS   COBB,   JR. 

TO 

JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER 


Issued  under  the  auspices  of  the 
AUTHORS      PRESS 


COPYRIGHT,    I90S, 

By   the  authors  PRESS 


J6 
v.  5 


CONTENTS 


Sylvanus  Cobb,  Jr. 


PAGE 


The  Gunmaker  of  Moscow i 

Henry  Cockton 

Valentine  Vox,  the  Ventriloquist 7 

William  Wilkie  Collins 

Antonina 13 

The  Woman  in  White 24 

Armadale 35 

Man  and  Wife 48 

No  Name 58 

The  Moonstone 69 

Ralph  Connor 

The  Sky  Pilot 83 

Hugh  Conway 

Called  Back 93 

James  Fenimore  Cooper 

Precaution loi 

The  Spy 113 

The  Pioneers 124 

The  Pilot 138 

Lionel  Lincoln 148 

The  Last  of  the  Moliicans 161 

ix 


X  CONTENTS 

James  Fenimore  Cooper  {Continued) 

PAGE 

The  Red  Rover 171 

The  Prairie 181 

The  Wei)t-of-Wish-ton-Wish 193 

The  Water  Witch        205 

The  Bravo 212 

The  Heidenmauer 226 

The  Headsman 239 

The  Monikins        251 

Homeward  Bound  and  Home  as  Found     .      .     .      -  259 

The  Pathfinder 270 

Mercedes  of  Castile 283 

The  Deerslayer 295 

The  Two  Admirals 305 

Wing  and  Wing 312 

Wyandotte 320 

Satanstoe 333 

Afloat  and  Ashore 344 

Miles  Wallingford 335 

The  Chainbearcr 364 

The  Redskins 377 

The  Crater 390 

Jack  Tier 402 

The  Oak  Openings 411 

The  Sea  lions 423 

The  Ways  of  the  Hour 431 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Uncas,  proud  and  haughty,  taunted  his  captors,  and  dared 
them  to  do  their  worst.     {The  Last  of  the  Mohicans, 

p.  1 66) Frontispiece 

Photogravure  after  a  drawing  by  H.  A.  Mathes. 


Portrait  of  James  Fenimore  Cooper,  painted  at  the  zenith 

of  his  powers         loi 

The  savages  found  their  way  to  the  room  where  the  children 

were.     {The  Wept-of-Wish-ton-Wish)        ....     201 

From  a  painting  made  for  this  edition  by  H.  A. 
Mathes. 


SYLVANUS    COBB,  JR. 

(United  States,  1823-1887) 
THE   GUNMAKER   OF   MOSCOW   (i860) 

This  is  the  author's  most  famous  story  and  it  has  spread  his  fame  over 
many  lands,  having  been  translated  into  many  foreign  languages. 

[  N  the  suburbs  of  Moscow,  at  the  end  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  Ruric  Nevel,  aged  twenty-three, 
a  gunmaker,  and  his  mother,  Claudia,  lived  in 
a  small  cot.  Ruric  was  in  love  with  Rosalind 
Valdai,  a  ward  of  the  Duke  of  Tula. 

One  stormy  night  a  fat  monk,  habited  like  the 
black  monks  of  St.  Michael,  asked  Ruric  for  a 
night's  lodging.  He  said  his  name  was  Vladimir. 
The  inhabitants  of  the  cot  thought  they  had  seen 
his  face  before.  When  the  monk  went  away  he  told  Ruric  if 
he  could  ever  do  a  deed  of  kindness  for  him  it  would  give  him 

joy- 
That  afternoon  two  young  men,  Count  Conrad  Damonoff 

and  his  friend  Stephen  Urzen,  went  to  see  Ruric.  The  former 
wanted  Ruric  to  sign  a  paper  stating  that  he  renounced  all 
claims  to  the  hand  of  Rosalind  Valdai.  He  had  come  from  the 
Duke.  Ruric  declared  that  only  the  Emperor  could  make  him 
sign  that  paper.  The  Count  struck  him,  and  Ruric  knocked 
him  down. 

The  next  morning  Ruric  went  to  see  Rosalind.  Her  com- 
panion, Zenobie,  was  with  her.  Ruric  asked  Rosalind  if  Count 
Damonoff  was  a  suitor  for  her  hand,  and  she  said  that  he  had 
asked  for  her  hand,  but  the  Duke  had  refused  his  consent.  Then 
he  told  her  of  the  scene  of  that  morning  with  the  Count  and  his 
friend.     She  said  the  Duke  and  the  Count  both  claimed  the 

A.D.,  VOL.  V. — I  I 


2  THE   GUNMAKER   OF   MOSCOW 

estates  of  Drotzen.  Ruric  thought  it  likely  that  the  Duke  had 
sent  DamonolT  to  him  in  order  to  provoke  a  duel,  thinking  that 
the  Count  would  be  killed.  But  he  spoke  not  of  this  to  Rosa- 
lind. She  promised  her  lover  that  she  would  not  consent  to 
marry  anyone  selected  by  the  Duke. 

Stephen  Urzen  came  to  sec  Ruric  with  a  challenge  from  the 
Count.  Ruric  sent  him  to  his  friend,  Alaric  Orsa.  The  duel 
was  fought  and  the  Count  w^as  badly  wounded.  Members  of 
the  Imperial  Guard  took  Ruric  to  the  Emperor  Peter.  Urzen 
and  the  Duke  of  Tula  were  there,  also  the  surgeon  who  had 
attended  the  Count  at  the  duel. 

The  Emperor  had  been  informed  of  the  duel  before  the 
Duke  came  demanding  justice,  and  saying  that  his  young  friend. 
Count  Damonoff,  had  been  brutally  murdered  by  Ruric  Nevel. 
The  Emperor  then  sent  for  Alaric  and  Ruric. 

Urzen  accused  Ruric  of  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  the 
Count  in  the  duel.  Alaric  suggested  that  the  Emperor  should 
judge  for  himself  by  a  trial  of  Ruric's  skill  with  Demetrius,  the 
Greek  master-at-arms. 

The  Greek  brought  the  swords.  The  thrusts  were  made 
with  skill  and  force.  Finally  the  haft  of  his  sword  was  wrenched 
from  Demetrius's  hand — it  struck  the  vaulted  ceiling  with  a 
dull  clang — and,  descending,  Ruric  Nevel  caught  it  fairly  by  the 
hUt! 

The  Emperor  thereupon  exonerated  Ruric  from  taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  Count  and  told  him  he  was  at  liberty. 

Soon  after  this  the  Duke  of  Tula  asked  Rosalind  to  be  his 
wife,  and  when  she  refused  he  said  that  he  would  possess  her 
whether  she  became  his  wife  or  not. 

Later,  when  closeted  in  his  private  room,  the  Duke  con- 
versed with  Savotano,  a  hunchbacked  priest.  Savotano  told 
him  the  Count  was  recovering.  The  Duke  said  he  must  die,  as 
he,  the  Duke,  was  in  need  of  money,  and  wanted  the  estate  of 
Drotzen,  claimed  by  the  Count.  He  had  hoped  the  gunmaker 
would  kill  the  Count  in  the  duel.  He  asked  Savotano  to  mix 
the  Count's  medicine  with  poison,  and  the  priest  agreed  to  do  as 
he  wished.  Then  the  Duke  said  Ruric  must  also  be  got  rid  of, 
for  Rosalind  loved  him,  and  the  Duke  wanted  to  marry  her  him- 
self on  account  of  her  vast  estates.     Savotano  agreed  to  get  rid 


SYLVANUS   COBB,   JR.  3 

of  Ruric  in  such  a  way  that  no  suspicion  should  fall  on  the  Duke. 
The  Duke  next  asked  Savotano  if  he  knew  anything  of  the  black 
monk,  and  Savotano  replied  that  he  thought  he  was  a  spy  of  the 
Pope. 

Count  Damonoff  was  said  to  be  dying.  Ruric  went  to  see 
him  and  asked  his  forgiveness.  The  Count  forgave  him,  and 
in  turn  asked  Ruric  to  pardon  him  for  the  part  he  had  taken 
in  the  plot  against  the  gunmaker,  and  said  that  if  he  recovered 
he  would  lead  a  very  different  life.  Ruric  told  him  his  suspicions 
of  the  Duke  in  the  affair,  and  added  that  he  suspected  the 
Count's  relapse  was  due  to  poison.  He  thought  Savotano  was 
implicated. 

Kopani,  the  surgeon,  came  in.  He  gave  the  Count  an 
emetic,  and  took  away  the  medicines  that  he  might  analyze 
them.  He  found  them  to  contain  arsenic,  opium,  and  other 
poisons. 

On  leaving  the  Count's  house  Ruric  was  accosted  by  a  man 
who  told  him  that  Alaric  Orsa  had  fallen  and  hurt  himself,  and 
had  sent  for  him.  Ruric  followed  the  man  through  many 
streets  to  an  old  house.  Another  man  with  a  lantern  opened 
the  door.  Ruric  was  conducted  down-stairs.  Suddenly  he  re- 
ceived two  blows,  and  then  was  bound  with  ropes,  and  taken  to 
a  small  dark  room,  where  his  assailants  left  him. 

Ruric' s  mother,  Claudia  Nevel,  went  to  see  Rosalind  some 
time  later,  in  great  agitation,  and  told  her  she  had  not  seen 
Ruric  for  three  days. 

"Oh!   God  have  mercy!"  ejaculated  the  young  Countess. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  rap  upon  the  door,  and  the  black 
monk,  Vladimir,  demanded  admittance.  He  came  to  ask  news 
of  Ruric.  He  would  save  him  if  he  could.  The  Duke  of  Tula 
strode  into  the  room. 

"Meddling  monk,"  he  cried,  "how  dare  you  drag  your  de- 
testable form  hither!     Out,  reptile,  out!" 

Count  Damonoff  soon  grew  better  and  presently  began  to 
sit  up.  Savotano  went  to  see  him.  He  then  went  to  the  Duke 
to  tell  him  of  the  improvement  in  the  Count's  condition.  He 
told  the  Duke  he  thought  the  Count  suspected  the  truth,  and 
that  Ruric  had  had  a  hand  in  opening  his  eyes.  For  this  reason 
he  should  be  despatched  without  delay.     The  Duke  told  him 


THK   C.UXMAKKR   OF   MOSCOW 

lo  let  the  work  bo  done  at  once.  "Kill  this  man  for  me,"  was 
his  command.  . 

In  a  small  subterranean  room  were  seated  six  men,  mcludmg 
IJK-  monk.  \"ladimir,  and  all  but  he  were  masked.  Four  men 
then  entered,  leading  two  prisoners.  These  were  questioned 
n^garding  Ruric.  and  thev  answered  that  they  knew  nothing  of 
his  whereabouts.  They  were  then  tortured  with  the  thumb- 
screw, and  at  last  confessed  that  Ruric  was  in  the  Duke's  old 
bath-house,  on  the  pass  of  Tula. 

Ruric  thought  he  had  been  imprisoned  about  four  days, 
when  his  door  was  opened.  He  first  saw  Savotano  and  felled 
him  to  the  ground.  But  there  were  four  other  men,  who  had 
come  to  conduct  him  out  of  the  place.  He  reached  the  top  of 
the  stairs  when  he  received  a  blow,  and  his  arms  were  pinioned 
behind  him.  Two  men  then  took  him  by  either  arm  and  led 
the  wav  to  a  large  circular  apartment.  While  one  placed  his 
lantern  on  a  broken  column,  the  other  took  up  a  large  club. 
Ruric  saw  that  they  meant  to  murder  him.  The  man  advanced, 
with  the  club  threateningly  raised,  when  Ruric,  with  all  his  force, 
planted  his  foot  in  the  pit  of  the  man's  stomach.  Ruric  then 
overturned  the  lantern.  Suddenly,  while  the  desperate  strug- 
gle was  in  ]>rogress,  the  glare  of  a  flaming  torch  lightened  the 
gloom.  X'ladimir  appeared,  followed  by  a  dozen  men,  and 
called  to  Ruric.  Our  hero  rushed  forward  and  embraced  his 
deliverer. 

Zenobie  now  persuaded  Rosalind  to  leave  the  Duke's  palace 
lo  seek  the  assistance  of  the  Emperor.  But  in  the  mean  while 
the  Duke  had  told  the  Emperor  that  Ruric  was  at  the  head  of  a 
band  of  desperadoes.  The  Emperor  had  Demetrius  file  an 
order  for  Ruric's  arrest. 

"Remember,"  said  Peter  to  the  Duke,  "you  must  bring  this 
man  before  me." 

On  leaving  the  palace  the  Duke  met  Savotano  and  told  him 
to  send  three  men  at  once  to  arrest  Ruric ;  they  must  make  him 
angn-,  and  when  he  resisted,  they  must  kill  him.  At  that 
moment  Rosalind  with  her  companion,  Zenobie,  passed  them. 
The  Duke  caught  Rosalind  by  the  arm,  and  dragged  them  both 
back  to  his  palace. 

The  next  morning  Demetrius  drove  to  the  gunmaker's  cot 


SYLVANUS   COBB,   JR.  5 

and  took  Ruric  away  with  him,  thereby  preventing  Savotano's 
men  from  finding  him. 

The  Duke  told  Savotano  he  meant  to  be  married  to  Rosalind 
that  afternoon. 

Vladimir  went  to  visit  the  Countess.  She  told  him  in  de- 
spair that  the  Duke  would  have  the  marriage  ceremony  per- 
formed whether  she  consented  or  not,  and  begged  him  to  save 
her. 

The  Duke  suddenly  entered  the  room  and  called  his  serv- 
ants to  seize  the  monk.  Vladimir  drew  a  pistol.  The  Duke 
hastily  moved  to  one  side.  Thereupon  the  monk  passed  out 
and  disappeared  through  a  secret  passageway. 

The  Duke  sent  immediately  for  the  Countess.  She  and 
Zenobie  descended  to  the  drawing-room,  and  found  the  Duke 
and  Savotano  already  there.  The  priest  mumbled  a  prayer. 
The  Duke  made  Rosalind  kneel.  At  this  moment  the  door 
was  thrown  open  and  Ruric,  Vladimir,  Claudia,  and  Paul  en- 
tered the  room.  The  ceremony  was  stopped.  At  a  signal 
the  Duke's  servants  rushed  in.  "Kill  these  intruders,"  he 
shouted. 

"Hold!"  cried  Vladimir,  in  a  voice  different  from  any  they 
had  heard  the  fat  monk  use  before.  The  Duke  started.  "  Olga 
— Duke  of  Tula — I  am  thy  master!"  and  throwing  off  the  black 
robe  and  a  pile  of  wadding,  the  mysterious  monk  stood  revealed. 

"It  is  the  Emperor!"  gasped  Savotano. 

The  Duke  fell  on  his  knees  and  begged  for  mercy.  Peter 
told  him  he  knew  of  all  his  wickedness;  he  should  be  the  Duke 
of  Tula  no  longer;  Ruric  Nevel  should  henceforth  bear  the 
title. 

As  Peter  ceased  speaking  he  waved  his  hand  to  his  officers, 
and  they  bore  the  prisoners  from  the  room.  The  priest  said  not 
a  word;  but  the  Duke  cursed  loudly  and  bitterly. 

When  the  dark  villains  had  gone  Peter  stepped  forward  and 
took  Rosalind's  hand.  There  was  a  tear  in  his  bright  eye,  and 
his  nether  lip  trembled. 

"Fair  cousin,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  soft  tone,  "I  could  not 
promise  thee  that  thou  shouldst  not  wed  with  the  Duke  of 
Tula,  for  I  had  even  then  planned  that  you  should  do  that 
thing.     But  it  will  not  be  very  hard,  will  it?" 


6  THE   GUNMAKER  OF  MOSCOW 

The  Countess  gazed  up,  and  a  murmur  of  thanks  was  upon 
her  Hi^s;  but  the  gushing  flood  of  tears  started  forth  anew,  and 
she  could  only  look  the  joyful  blessings  she  could  not  speak. 
Peter  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  her  pure  brow,  and  then  gave  her 
hand  to  Ruric,  and  as  he  did  so  he  said,  with  a  warm  smile: 

"You  must  be  her  guardian  hereafter,  and  should  you  tire 
of  your  duty  your  Emperor  will  be  ever  ready  to  grant  her  the 
asylum  she  needs." 

Olga  was  soon  after  convicted  of  treason  and  sent  to  Sibe- 
ria, but  died  of  a  broken  heart  on  the  way.  Savotano  was  exe- 
cuted as  a  common  murderer.  But  Ruric  Nevel,  the  Gun- 
maker  of  Moscow,  was  knighted  by  the  Emperor,  and  married 
on  the  same  day  to  Rosalind  Valdai. 


HENRY    COCKTON 

(England,  1807-1852) 
VALENTINE   VOX,   THE  VENTRILOQUIST  (1840) 

;ENTRIL0QUISM  was  so  little  known  in  Eng- 
land in  the  earlier  half  of  the  last  century  that 
when  Valentine  Vox,  a  decent  Suffolk  youth,  ac- 
quired the  art  for  the  sole  purpose  of  amusing 
himself,  he  caused  many  mysterious  disturbances 
in  his  native  town.  Some  houses  got  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  haunted,  others  were  searched  for 
burglars  or  murderers  who  existed  only  in  Val- 
entine's imagination;  a  marriage  ceremony  was 
interrupted  because  "I  forbid  the  banns!"  was  heard  some- 
where in  the  church,  though  the  person  who  pronounced  the 
words  was  never  discovered;  and  an  important  political  meeting 
was  by  voices  unknown  turned  into  a  wildly  riotous  demon- 
stration which  had  to  be  suppressed  by  the  military. 

Valentine's  mother  learned  enough  about  her  son's  pranks 
to  fear  the  penalties  which  would  result  should  the  authorities 
learn  the  name  of  the  mischief-maker;  so  she  consulted  her 
Uncle  John,  to  whom  Valentine  made  an  honest  confession, 
with  so  many  practical  illustrations  of  his  powers  that  the  old 
man  almost  laughed  himself  into  apoplexy.  Nevertheless,  the 
boy  would  not  be  safe  in  a  village  so  small  and  leisurely  that 
everybody  had  time  and  inclination  to  be  a  spy  on  everybody 
else  who  might  be  suspected  of  anything;  so  the  old  man  sent 
Valentine  up  to  London  to  an  old  and  wealthy  bachelor  friend, 
Mr.  Grimwood  Goodman,  who  would  be  sure  to  take  good  care 
of  him. 

Valentine  went  to  London  by  coach;  and  on  the  way  he 
practised  his  mysterious  art  so  skilfully  and  continuously  that 

7 


8        V.VLENTINE  VOX,   THE  VENTRILOQUIST 

he  sot  many  of  his  fcllow-passcngers  by  the  ears  and  reduced 
the  driver,  a  veteran  whip,  so  near  to  imbccihty  that  the  coach 
reached  the  city  many  hours  behind  time.  Mr.  Goodman,  who 
had  been  awaiting  Valentine's  arrival,  was  so  excited  by  the 
delay  and  had  a  countenance  so  kind  and  trustworthy  that 
\'alentine  made  a  confidant  of  him  and  detailed  many  of  the 
incidents  with  which  he  had  enlivened  the  journey.  Goodman, 
who  had  little  to  do  but  amuse  himself,  was  so  delighted  that 
he  begged  for  more  mischief  of  the  same  kind,  and  that  at  once; 
so  Valentine  soon  created  a  great  variety  of  amusing  disorders 
in  the  inn  at  which  the  coach  stopped;  the  waiter  was  driven 
wild  by  orders  that  came  from  every  part  of  the  coffee-room  at 
once,  and  enraged  the  patrons  by  serving  foods  and  drinks  that 
had  not  been  ordered;  rogues  exchanged  rude  language  in  the 
chimney,  directly  over  the  glowing  fire,  and  when  broomsticks 
and  pistols  did  not  eject  them,  the  police  were  called  in  only 
to  set  themselves  and  everybody  else  by  the  ears  while  Good- 
man and  Valentine  stole  gently  away. 

Goodman,  who  was  a  merry-hearted  man  without  an  ounce 
of  guile  in  him,  began  to  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  pastures 
new  where  greater  antics  might  be  played  by  his  new  acquaint- 
ance's art;  after  some  pondering  he  suggested  that  his  guest 
and  he  should  make  an  early  visit  to  the  House  of  Commons; 
and  Valentine,  although  not  entirely  destitute  of  the  Briton's 
inborn  awe  of  the  power  that  makes  his  country's  laws,  was  yet 
as  reckless  and  willing  as  any  other  irrepressible  boy.  The 
result  was  a  day  of  excitement  such  as  the  Commons  had  not 
known  since  Cromwell's  Roundheads  had  dissolved  it  by  force 
of  arms;  every  member  who  rose  to  speak  was  interrupted  with 
remarks  which  were  disowned  by  the  persons  to  whom  they  were 
traced;  the  Speaker  himself  was  flouted;  the  air  was  filled  with 
shouts,  catcalls,  trombone  toots,  jcw's-harp  solos  and  other 
unparliamentary  noises,  until  Mr.  Goodman  was  only  saved 
from  death  by  ecstatic  hysteria  through  an  adjournment  of  the 
House. 

The  old  gentleman's  delight  in  his  new  friend  was  so  evident 
that  it  became  the  cause  of  his  undoing.  His  heirs  apparent, 
who  were  his  brother  Walter  and  his  nephew  Horace,  grew 
jealous  of  Valentine ;  for  they  believed  that  their  relative  would 


HENRY   COCKTON  9 

probably  leave  his  fortune  to  the  youth  who  had  so  quickly  been 
adopted  into  his  affection.  One  day  Goodman  failed  to  keep 
an  engagement  he  had  made  for  a  trip  to  Gravesend;  Valentine 
was  unable  to  find  him,  although  he  sought  him  for  days;  the 
Goodman  relatives  declared  themselves  ignorant  of  his  where- 
abouts or  of  any  reason  why  he  should  have  disappeared,  ex- 
cept perhaps  that  of  late  years  he  had  sometimes  been  a  little 
queer  and  flighty.  They  also  professed  a  high  regard  for  Val- 
entine, who  was  escorted  about  London  by  young  Horace 
Goodman,  apparently  with  the  hope  that  he  too  might  get  into 
trouble  and  disappear;  but  Valentine  was  too  clean  of  heart  to 
care  for  the  dissipations  to  which  Horace  introduced  him;  so 
he  found  diversion  in  practising  ventriloquism  behind  the  scenes 
at  the  theaters  and  in  other  popular  resorts  to  which  Horace 
led  him. 

The  disappearance  of  Mr.  Goodman  was  not  Valentine's 
only  cause  for  perplexity  and  regret.  Soon  after  coming  to 
London  he  had  saved  from  drowning  an  old  and  apparently 
wealthy  man,  with  his  daughter,  a  girl  whose  eyes  seemed  to 
Valentine  like  rare  brilliants  and  whose  face  was  as  exquisitely 
sensitive  as  it  was  beautiful.  Father  and  daughter  were  grate- 
ful in  the  extreme  and  begged  that  their  rescuer  would  call  on 
them;  but  in  the  excitement  caused  by  the  incident  Valentine 
somehow  lost  the  card  given  him  by  the  father,  and  could  not 
recall  the  name  or  address.  Yet  the  girl's  countenance  and  its 
charming  expression  remained  so  distinct  in  his  memory  that 
his  longing  to  see  her  again  grew  more  earnest  day  by  day.  He 
was  too  healthy  and  of  too  active  a  temperament  to  fall  into 
moroseness,  and  too  decent  to  seek  forgetfulness  in  the  excesses 
to  which  London  invited  young  men;  so  almost  his  only  relief 
came  from  practising  ventriloquism  in  places  where  people 
might  be  most  starded.  At  the  British  Museum  he  made  some 
staid  persons  very  sure  that  they  had  been  addressed  by  the 
stone  bust  of  ]\Iemnon;  others  were  so  positive  that  an  excited 
Irishman  was  shouting  for  help  from  the  coffin  of  an  Egyptian 
mummy  that  several  of  the  Museum's  attendants  forced  up  the 
lid  and  discovered — nothing.  He  dazed  a  lecturer  on  phrenol- 
ogy, as  well  as  the  lecturer's  audience,  by  eliciting  spirited 
remonstrances  from  a  skull  which  had  been  displayed  as  that 


TO 


VALENTINE   VOX,   THE   VENTRILOQUIST 


of  a  murclercr;  he  turned  an  Equal  Rights  meeting  into  a  pan- 
demonium by  projecting  disturbing  voices  into  all  parts  of  the 
house;  and  in  like  manner  he  shamed  into  silence  and  dispersal 
an  enthusiastic  conference  of  the  Anti-Legal-Marriage  Associ- 
ation. He  was  similarly  active  and  mystifying  at  the  Victual- 
crs'  Fancy  Fair,  a  masquerade  at  Vauxhall,  and  a  noted  exhi- 
bition of  waxworks. 

Meanwhile  his  suspicion  that  Mr.  Goodman's  relatives  knew 
of  that  gentleman's  whereabouts  ripened  into  conviction;  and 
he  finally  succeeded  in  getting  from  one  of  them  the  admission 
that  his  poor  old  friend  had  been  committed  to  an  asylum, 
under  the  legal  formalities  in  vogue  at  the  time,  as  an  insane 
person.  Valentine  imparted  this  information  to  his  Uncle 
John,  who  hastened  to  London,  intent  on  securing  Goodman's 
release. 

Almost  at  the  same  time,  through  an  odd  chain  of  incidents 
which  in  themselves  were  ordinary,  the  young  man  recovered 
the  card  of  the  man  whom,  with  his  daughter,  he  had  saved 
from  drowning.  Hurrying  to  the  house  he  found  the  girl.  Miss 
Louise  Raven,  as  charming  as  his  memory  and  fancy  had 
painted  her.  Her  gratitude  and  that  of  her  father  were  even 
more  effusive  than  on  the  day  of  the  accident;  their  hospitality 
was  as  great  as  their  wealth,  which  seemed  almost  boundless. 
Valentine  soon  fell  in  love  and  quickly  learned  that  his  sentiment 
was  reciprocated. 

But  his  new  attachment  did  not  lessen  the  earnestness  of  his 
search  for  his  friend,  who  within  a  few  days  was  happily  found, 
sane,  in  company  with  a  Mr.  Wliitely,  equally  sane,  yet  held, 
like  Mr.  Goodman,  in  an  imprisonment  shamefully  vile  and 
brutal.  In  the  course  of  an  attempt  at  rescue  instituted  by 
Valentine,  Mr.  Whitely  escaped,  accompanied  Valentine  and 
his  uncle  to  London  and  gave  such  information  regarding  the 
asylum  methods  that  the  manager  released  Goodman  to  avert 
serious  trouble  from  himself. 

Ordinarily  this  successful  result  would  have  put  an  end  to 
all  mysteries  in  the  affair;  but  in  this  case  it  was  the  cause  of 
more.  It  was  impossible  that  the  several  acquaintances  of 
Valentine  and  his  uncle  should  not  meet  one  another,  sooner  or 
later;  for  the  young  man's  love-making  had  progressed  so  well 


HENRY  COCKTON  ii 

that  Louise  had  been  persuaded  to  name  the  wedding-day,  and 
Mr.  Raven  had  settled  a  large  sum  of  money  on  the  couple  and 
provided  a  handsome  home  for  them.  Whitely,  like  Good- 
man, had  been  committed  to  the  asylum  by  fraud  and  force, 
although  with  careful  regard  for  legal  requirements;  his  enemy 
was  a  man  who  had  beguiled  his  wife  away  from  him  and  also 
taken  his  children;  his  fortune,  too,  had  been  made  way  with, 
apparently  by  the  same  villain.  After  fifteen  years  of  confine- 
ment, liberty  was  dear  to  Whitely  for  its  own  sake;  but  it  was 
far  dearer  because  it  gave  him  the  hope  that  he  might  now  find 
his  son  and  daughter;  his  wife,  whom  he  loved  in  spite  of  her 
fault,  he  could  only  hope  was  dead. 

Raven  was  not  a  gentleman;  his  wealth  was  due  to  his  busi- 
ness ability  as  a  pawnbroker,  whose  principal  customers  were 
of  the  spendthrift  aristocratic  class;  but  Valentine  and  his  uncle 
accepted  him  for  what  he  undoubtedly  was — a  man  having  a 
sincere  and  unbounded  gratitude  to  Valentine,  and  a  loving, 
reverent  parent  to  Louise.  One  day  Raven  accidentally  came 
face  to  face  with  Whitely,  and  was  at  once  recognized  by  him 
as  the  man  who  had  robbed  him  of  wife,  children,  fortune  and 
liberty.  No  plea  in  palliation  was  possible;  Raven  was  com- 
pelled to  admit  the  enormity  of  his  villainy;  Valentine  now 
understood,  for  the  first  time,  why  Raven  had  once  exacted 
from  him  a  promise  that,  despite  anything  that  might  occur  at 
any  future  time,  he  would  remain  true  to  Louise.  He  did  not 
need  to  be  reminded  of  this  promise,  for  nothing  could  lessen 
his  loving  regard  for  the  girl;  but  Louise  herself,  who  had 
learned  for  the  first  time  of  the  blot  on  Raven's  character,  was 
so  unhappy  as  to  desire  that  the  wedding  might  be  postponed 
indefinitely — a  desire  against  which  Valentine  protested. 

WTiitely  attempted  legal  action  against  Raven,  but  time  and 
death  had  apparently  removed  all  the  necessary  witnesses. 
Raven  offered  restitution,  so  far  as  it  could  be  expressed  in 
money,  but  Whitely  spurned  all  offers  that  were  not  accom- 
panied by  the  assurance  that  his  children  should  be  restored  to 
him.  Raven  professed  entire  ignorance  of  the  children  and 
their  whereabouts;  their  mother  had  died  soon  after  leaving  her 
rightful  husband;  what  disposition  she  had  made  of  her  little 
ones  he  did  not  know. 


12      \ALENTINE   VOX,   THE   VENTRILOQUIST 

One  day  an  insolent  yet  pampered  man-servant  of  Raven's 
disappeared;  and  on  the  same  day  Raven  acted  as  if  every  cloud 
had  been  lifted  from  his  own  sky.  But  the  man  suddenly 
reappeared  and  disclosed  that  Raven  not  only  knew  all  about 
Whitely's  children,  but  had  brought  them  up  as  his  own;  the 
boy  had  been  reared  in  Wales  and  taught  to  regard  his  sister  as 
a  cousin,  while  the  girl  was  no  other  than  Valentine's  affianced 
bride,  Louise! 

These  revelations,  naturally,  did  not  prevent  the  marriage 
of  \'alentine  and  Louise  on  the  day  appointed  or  their  happiness 
afterward.  IMr.  Goodman  died  prematurely,  his  health  hav- 
ing been  undermined  by  brutal  treatment  in  the  asylum;  he 
heaped  coals  of  fire  on  the  head  of  his  inhuman  brother  by 
making  him  his  sole  heir;  but  this  brother,  whose  uneasy  con- 
science had  already  enfeebled  his  mind,  quickly  dissipated 
the  money  in  speculation  and  then  committed  suicide.  Raven 
died  soon  after  the  wedding;  his  crimes  could  not  be  forgotten 
by  anyone  who  knew  of  them,  yet  he  was  remembered  with  the 
respect  due  to  even  a  villain  who  has  cherished  steadfastly  one 
honest,  unselfish,  noble  affection,  like  Raven's  love  for  Louise. 

Valentine  cared  no  longer  for  such  diversions  as  the  practise 
of  ventriloquism  could  offer,  yet  he  was  compelled  to  exercise 
his  amusing  gift  from  time  to  time;  for  Louise  thought  it  the 
most  wonderful  and  fascinating  accomplishment  of  the  most 
wonderful  and  fascinating  man  in  the  world. 


WILLIAM  WILKIE  COLLINS 

(England,    1 824-1 889) 
ANTONINA  (1852) 

Anlonina  was  the  first  novel  that  Wilkie  Collins  wTote.  Its  success  was  so 
pronounced  as  to  give  him  at  once  a  recognized  place  among  the  Enghsh  writers 
of  fiction  of  that  time,  a  group  that  included  Dickens,  Thackeray,  and  Buhver. 
It  also  led  Colhns  to  abandon  the  law  and  make  a  profession  of  novel-v\Titing. 
Yet,  curiously  enough,  the  success  of  Antonina  did  not  tempt  him  to  enter  again 
upon  the  same  or  a  similar  field.  All  the  rest  of  his  novels  were  modern  and 
not  historical ;  all  were  radically  different  from  this  first  one  in  time,  theme,  man- 
ner, and  purpose.  So  that  Antovina  stands  alone  among  his  works,  in  a  class 
by  itself  and  with  no  structural  or  literarv'  kinship  to  its  author's  other  writings. 

N  the  autumn  of  the  year  408  a.d.  Alaric  with 
his  Gothic  hordes  was  advancing  over  the  Alps 
to  assail  Rome,  already  enfeebled  by  luxury  and 
misrule. 

In  the  mountain  fastnesses,  a  woman  bearing 
a  severely  wounded  infant  in  her  arms  joined 
her  brother,  the  young  Gothic  warrior  Herman- 
ric. 

This  woman  was  called  Goisvintha,  and  with 
her  husband  and  three  children  had  been  left  as  a  Gothic  hostage 
at  Aquileia.  The  Romans  had  treacherously  massacred  the 
band,  but  Goisvintha  had  escaped.  Her  husband  and  two  of 
her  children  were  slain  before  her  eyes,  and  the  babe  that  she 
now  bore  in  her  arms  was  wounded  unto  death  by  a  cruel 
sword-thrust.  The  child  w^as  confided  to  the  women  of  the 
camp,  who  were  the  only  doctors  among  the  Goths,  but,  not- 
withstanding their  ministrations,  it  died  of  its  wounds.  With 
the  spirit  of  her  people,  among  whom  the  bravest  warriors  often 
killed  themselves  when  so  far  wounded  in  battle  as  to  be  in- 
capable of  further  martial  service,  Goisvintha  reconciled  herself 
to  the  loss  of  her  babe,  realizing  that  even  had  he  lived  his 

J  3 


14  ANTONINA 

wounds  must  have  incapacitated  him  for  the  career  of  a  warrior. 
But  her  submission  to  fate  had  no  touch  of  softness  or  forgive- 
ness in  it.  Her  mind  was  hardened  into  an  implacable  hatred 
of  the  Romans.  Her  soul  was  set  on  vengeance,  and  in  her 
passion  she  made  Hermanric  swear  that  he  would  wreak  that 
vengeance  in  her  behalf. 

Honorius  was  then  Emperor  of  Rome.  Weak  in  mind  and 
character,  without  honor,  conscience,  or  courage,  he  had  retired 
with  his  court  and  a  great  company  of  patricians  to  the  strong- 
hold of  Ravenna,  for  the  sake  of  securing  his  personal  safety 
when  the  Goths,  already  advancing  over  the  Alps,  should 
descend  upon  the  plains  of  Italy  to  wreak  vengeance  for  their 
wrongs.  He  had  brought  his  chickens  and  his  legions  with  him : 
the  chickens  that  they  might  entertain  his  hours  of  idleness — 
and  all  hours  were  hours  of  idleness  to  him — and  the  legions 
that  they  might  protect  him  at  Ravenna,  leaving  Rome  to  take 
care  of  itself. 

Vetranio,  the  senator,  the  libertine,  the  luxurious  devotee 
of  self-indulgence,  who  in  his  luxuriousness  required  to  be 
awakened  from  sleep  only  by  the  strains  of  soft  music,  had 
followed  the  Emperor  to  Ravenna,  but  he  planned  to  return 
to  Rome  immediately  on  a  mission  of  lust.  He  asked  his  friend 
Juha — witty,  but  growing  old  and  worn — to  lend  him  her  villa  at 
Avicia  for  a  time.  She,  understanding  his  purpose,  consented, 
but  questioned  him  about  the  woman  in  the  case. 

He  told  her  of  Antonina,  a  girl,  scarcely  more  than  a  child, 
whose  father's  home  adjoined  his  palace  grounds.  The  father, 
Numerian,  was  a  stern  reformer,  a  puritan  in  revolt  against  the 
corruption  of  the  church  and  society,  who  had  gathered  a  little 
flock  about  him  and  preached  to  them  against  the  luxurious 
indulgence  of  the  time,  the  venality  of  the  priests,  and  the 
decay  of  Christianity. 

The  girl  had  invaded  his  grounds,  drawn  thither  by  his 
playing  upon  the  lute,  for  he  was  alike  master  of  music  and 
gastronomy,  the  composer  of  sonatas  and  the  inventor  of 
sauces.  Little  by  little  he  had  overcome  her  shyness,  and  after 
teaching  her  to  play  had  given  her  a  lute,  which  she  jealously 
concealed  from  her  stern  father's  knowledge.  Vetranio  meant 
now  to  return  to  Rome  and  carry  the  girl  to  the  borrowed  villa. 


WILLIAM  WILKIE   COLLINS  15 

Rome  was  at  this  time  in  decay,  brilliant,  gorgeous,  happy, 
lawless  decay.  The  luxury  of  the  rich  knew  no  bounds.  Their 
oppression  of  those  of  the  middle  class  whose  lands  they  coveted 
was  resistless,  while  the  lewd  populace  was  supplied  alike 
with  amusements  and  sustenance  at  the  public  expense,  in 
order  to  prevent  outbreaks  of  discontent.  Vice  was  not  only 
tolerated  but  esteemed. 

The  soldiery  were  as  dissolute  as  their  patrician  officers. 
The  city  was  guarded  only  in  the  most  perfunctory  way,  and 
even  now  that  the  Goths  were  coming  not  a  legion  was  sent  to 
arrest  their  attack,  not  an  effort  made  to  oppose  their  march. 
Rome  relied  for  her  defense  upon  the  terror  of  the  Roman 
name  and  upon  her  wealth,  with  which  she  had  bought  off 
many  invaders.  But  the  effects  of  luxury  and  license  had  robbed 
the  Roman  name  of  its  terror  in  the  eyes  of  the  virile  Goths, 
and,  so  far  from  bargaining  for  a  bribe  from  the  wealth  of 
Rome,  Alaric  had  decided  to  make  the  whole  of  it  his  own. 

Numerian  knew  well  the  conditions  of  the  life  about  him. 
He  knew  that  an  attractive  girl  like  his  daughter  Antonina 
was  regarded  as  legitimate  prey  by  the  nobles;  that  should 
any  patrician  seize  her  and  carry  her  off  to  his  villa,  there  was 
nowhere  redress  for  the  wrong,  nowhere  a  thought  of  punish- 
ment for  the  crime.  Nevertheless  he  felt  secure  of  his  daughter. 
She  was  in  charge  of  his  servant  Ulpius,  whom  he  trusted  abso- 
lutely as  a  Christian  reformer  like  himself. 

Ulpius  was,  in  fact,  the  most  fanatic  pagan  left  in  the  Roman 
Empire.  In  his  youth  his  name  had  been  Emilius.  He  had 
been  sent  to  Alexandria  to  become  a  priest  in  the  temple  of 
Serapis  with  the  changed  name  Ulpius.  He  had  become  a 
fanatic  of  fanatics  in  the  pagan  priesthood.  When  Christianity 
triumj)hed  he  had  organized  and  led  the  bloody  defense  of  the 
temple  of  Serapis.  Made  captive,  he  had  been  sent  to  the 
copper-mines  of  Spain  under  life  sentence.  After  years  of 
crippling  and  cruel  servitude  he  had  escaped.  Returning  to 
Rome,  and  cherishing  a  monomaniacal  dream  of  restoring 
paganism  by  fair  means  or  foul,  he  had  feigned  sympathy  with 
Numcrian's  idea  of  reforming  Christianity,  and  Numerian 
trusted  him  unqucstioningly.  He  betrayed  the  trust  by  abetting 
Antonina's  visits  to  the  palace  grounds  of  Vetranio  and  con- 


1 6  ANTONINA 

coaling  her  possession  of  a  lute.  Even  when  Numerian  dis- 
covered the  lute  and  angrily  dashed  it  to  fragments  he  did  not 
suspect  Ulpius  of  treachery. 

After  a  little  while  Ulpius  carried  his  treachery  farther. 
He  secretly  visited  Vetranio  and  notified  him  that  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  at  dawn,  he  would  be  ready  to  conduct  the  wealthy 
libertine  to  Antonina's  chamber  and  aid  him  in  her  abduction. 

Vetranio  had  one  of  his  feasts  that  night,  and  when  the 
morning  came  the  fumes  of  wine  still  clouded  his  faculties. 
A  bath  restored  him,  but  when  Ulpius  led  him  into  his  own 
confined  quarters  beneath  Numerian's  house  and  detained 
him  there  to  make  a  bargain  with  him,  the  stifling  atmosphere 
and  the  heat  brought  on  again  the  uncertainty  of  drunkenness. 
The  bargain  Ulpius  exacted  was  that  Vetranio  should  aid  him 
in  his  project  of  overthrowing  Christianity  and  restoring  the 
worship  of  the  pagan  gods.  Vetranio,  muddled  with  wine, 
eager  to  escape  the  close  quarters,  and  madly  impatient  to 
possess  himself  of  his  victim  Antonina,  swore  to  all  that  the 
pagan  required.  He  was  led  to  the  bedchamber  ofj  the  sleeping 
girl.  Still  half-drunk  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  caressed  her. 
At  that  moment  her  father,  the  stern  Numerian,  appeared. 
His  wrath  took  an  unexpected  form.  With  a  calmness  that 
was  almost  appalling  he  asked  a  favor  of  the  libertine.  He 
begged  him  to  remove  his  harlot — for  so  he  called  the  innocent 
child — to  his  own  palace,  that  her  presence  might  no  longer 
pollute  a  Christian  home. 

The  girl,  escaping  at  once  from  her  drunken  abductor  and 
her  unjustly  wrathful  father,  fled  into  the  streets,  clad  only  in 
her  night-robes. 

At  that  moment  the  streets  were  thronged  with  multi- 
tudes of  refugees  fleeing  into  the  city  from  the  populous  suburbs 
and  the  farming  regions  beyond.  Alaric's  hosts  had  appeared 
before  the  careless  city,  and  all  the  people  without  the  walls 
were  hastening  in  panic  to  find  shelter. 

Antonina,  driven  from  home  by  her  angry  father  and  in 
still  greater  terror  of  her  abductor,  fled  in  an  opposite  direction, 
passed  the  city  gates  ere  they  were  closed,  and  became  a  help- 
less wanderer  over  the  abandoned  fields  that  lay  between  the 
walls  and  the  Gothic  camps;    for,  instead  of  pushing  on  into 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  17 

the  city  and  sacking  it  as,  with  his  overwhelming  force,  he 
might  easily  have  done,  Alaric  had  completely  invested  the 
place,  meaning  to  starve  it  into  absolute  and  abject  submission. 

From  the  words  of  Vetranio,  who  was  drunkenly  penitent, 
and  of  L^lpius,  who  was  insanely  defiant  and  had  fled  the  house, 
Numerian  learned  his  daughter's  innocence,  and  bitterly  re- 
pented him  of  the  unjust  judgment  that  had  driven  her  in  terror 
from  her  home.  Almost  frantic  with  grief  he  set  out  to  find 
her,  summoning  his  faithful  followers  to  aid  him  in  the  search. 
Vetranio,  too,  remorseful  now  and  compassionate,  set  all  the 
agencies  that  his  wealth,  his  power,  and  his  mighty  influence 
could  command,  to  work  for  the  same  end.  It  proved  all  to  be 
of  no  avail. 

The  half-crazed  Goisvintha  was  bitterly  disappointed  when 
she  learned  that,  instead  of  rushing  into  Rome  to  plunder  and 
to  slay,  Alaric  had  decided  to  blockade  the  city  and  by  starva- 
tion reduce  it  to  surrender.  She  thirsted  for  blood  and  ven- 
geance. Her  brother,  Hermanric,  in  vain  reminded  her  that 
famine  and  pestilence  would  wreak  her  vengeance  more  effectu- 
ally than  slaughter  itself.  She  wanted  blood,  and  in  her  mad 
enthusiasm  she  exacted  of  him  an  oath  that  he  would  mercilessly 
slay  with  his  own  hands  the  first  man,  woman,  or  child  who 
should  come  to  him  from  Rome,  whether  for  peace  or  for  war. 

Soon  afterward  Antonina,  fleeing  in  her  night-robe,  ap- 
proached his  tent  and  pleaded  piteously  for  succor.  As  soon 
as  she  made  herself  known  as  a  Roman,  Goisvintha  demanded 
that  her  brother  should  kill  the  child  in  fulfilment  of  his  oath. 
Her  innocence  and  helplessness  appealed  so  strongly  to  Her- 
manric, however,  that  he  refused,  and  while  the  quarrel  over 
her  went  on  the  girl  escaped  into  the  deserted  suburbs  in  the 
rear  of  the  Gothic  camp.  There  she  hid  herself  in  an  abandoned 
farmhouse. 

Hermanric,  with  the  force  under  his  command,  was  ordered 
to  take  a  position  in  front  of  the  Pincian  gate.  Feeling  that  he 
had  deserted  Antonina  when  he  had  bidden  her  flee  from  his 
sister's  wrath,  he  proceeded  secretly  by  night  to  search  for  her. 
He  found  her  in  the  farmhouse,  and,  visiting  her  there  night 
after  night,  learned  to  love  her  and  won  her  love  in  return. 

Meanwhile  Goisvintha's  rage  and  disappointment  had 
A.  D.,  VOL.  v.— 2 


iS  ANTONINA 

thrown  her  into  a  fever,  so  that  Hcrmanric  was  not  troubled 
by  her  presence  at  his  new  post  in  front  of  the  Pincian  gate. 

By  accident  the  fanatic  pagan  Ulpius  discovered  a  point  in 
the  Roman  walls,  near  the  Pincian  gate,  where  time,  neglect,  a 
subterranean  stream,  and  long  years  of  decay  had  so  far  weak- 
ened the  structure  that  by  tireless  toil,  involving  much  of  hard- 
ship and  still  more  of  danger,  he  was  able  to  open  a  secret 
passageway  through  the  rampart.  He  conceived  the  plan  of 
escaping  through  this  hole,  gaining  access  to  Alaric,  and,  in 
return  for  his  service  in  guiding  the  Goths  into  Rome,  demanding 
of  the  Gothic  King  a  pledge  to  abandon  Christianity  and  to 
restore  in  Rome  the  worship  of  the  pagan  deities. 

In  the  city  itself,  meanwhile,  famine  was  slowly  but  surely 
doing  the  work  that  Alaric  expected  of  it.  The  grain  supplies 
were  exhausted,  and  the  people  were  starving.  Cats,  dogs, 
parrots,  canary  birds,  rats,  and  even  the  lizard  that  infested  the 
garden  walls  were  cast  into  a  caldron,  the  loathsome  contents 
of  which  were  doled  out  sparingly  to  the  famishing  populace. 

There  was  nowhere  any  energy  of  defense,  nowhere  a  man 
who  thought  of  organizing  and  arming  the  multitudes  of  men 
in  Rome  and  hurling  them  in  military  fashion  upon  the  enemy's 
lines.  The  Senate  vainly  hoped  for  relief  from  Ravenna;  the 
priests  vainly  prayed  for  relief  from  Heaven.  In  all  Rome  there 
was  not  a  man  bold  enough  to  suggest  self-help  to  the  multitudes 
assembled  there. 

In  the  Gothic  camp  Goisvintha  recovered  from  her  fever 
and  again  sought  out  her  brother  Hermanric.  He  was  absent 
from  his  post  by  night,  and  she  rightly  conjectured  that  he  had 
gone  to  visit  the  hated  Roman  girl  Antonina,  for  whose  blood 
she  thirsted. 

Some  low-browed,  chinless,  repulsively  deformed  Huns 
under  Hcrmanric' s  command  had  learned  to  hate  the  young 
Gothic  warrior.  They  tracked  him  to  his  trysting-place  with 
Antonina  and  reported  his  desertion  of  post  to  Alaric.  The 
Gothic  King  gave  orders  that  they  should  search  him  out, 
arrest  him,  and  bring  him  before  his  sovereign  commander, 
adding  that  if  he  should  resist  they  were  to  slay  him  without 
mercy. 

Having  learned  from  these  Huns  the  whereabouts  of  Her- 


WILLIAM  WILKIE   COLLINS  19 

manric,  Goisvintha  preceded  them  to  the  farmhouse,  slipped 
unobserved  into  the  room  where  Hermanric  and  Antonina  were 
in  converse,  and  bided  her  time. 

Ulpius  had  succeeded  in  forcing  his  way  through  the  de- 
fensive wall,  and  on  that  same  night  secured  audience  of  Alaric, 
the  Gothic  King.  With  the  insolence  of  his  crazy  fanaticism, 
he  sought  to  dictate  terms  to  the  half-savage  Goth.  He  offered 
to  lead  into  Rome,  through  his  secret  passage,  enough  Gothic 
warriors  to  overcome  the  Roman  sentinels  and  throw  open  the 
gates.  In  return  he  demanded  that  the  Goth  should  renounce 
Christianity  and  swear  to  restore  the  worship  of  the  pagan 
gods  in  Rome. 

Alaric  laughed  the  lunatic  to  scorn  and  bade  him  return  to 
Rome.  The  Goths  needed  no  guides  and  no  secret  passages. 
They  could  force  their  way  into  the  starved  and  pestilence- 
stricken  city  whenever  they  pleased. 

Ulpius,  dazed  and  only  half-conscious,  wandered  away  from 
Rome  rather  than  back  toward  the  city. 

Wliile  Hermanric  and  Antonina  were  exchanging  vows  of 
love  in  the  farmhouse,  Goisvintha  silently  slipped  out  of  her 
hiding-place  within  the  room,  and  with  a  single  cut  of  her  knife 
across  the  backs  of  her  brother's  hands,  severed  all  the  tendons, 
thus  forever  disabling  him  as  a  warrior.  Almost  immediately 
afterwards  the  Huns  broke  into  the  house  and  demanded  Her- 
manric's  surrender  to  their  order  of  arrest,  as  a  deserter  from 
his  post.  Meanwhile  Goisvintha  was  taunting  him  with  the 
disability  she  had  herself  inflicted  and  calling  upon  him  to  fol- 
low the  tradition  of  his  race  by  suicide,  in  imitation  of  warriors 
who  had  killed  themselves  as  useless  because  of  disabling  wounds 
received  in  achieving  victories. 

Unable  even  to  grasp  his  sword,  or  to  take  hold  of  an  enemy's 
throat,  Hermanric  could  oppose  no  resistance  to  the  demand 
of  the  Huns  for  his  surrender.  Yet  he  refused  to  surrender 
and  bade  them  strike  the  fatal  blow. 

When  he  fell  Antonina  swooned  by  his  side  and  Goisvintha 
planned  presently  to  kill  her.  But  Goisvintha  was  herself 
absent  without  leave  from  her  place  in  the  camp,  and  the  Huns 
arrested  her  and  carried  her  away. 

Presently  two  of  the  Huns — two  to  whom  Hermanric  had 


,,o  ANTONINA 

done  remembered  kindnesses — detached  themselves,  returned 
and  buried  the  warrior  in  the  garden.  The  girl  still  lay  uncon- 
scious, and  they  left  her  as  one  dead. 

Dismissed  in  scorn  by  Alaric,  Ulpius,  with  mind  completely 
gone,  wandered  through  the  suburbs,  until  at  last  he  reached 
the  farmhouse  and  found  Antonina.  Dazed  as  he  was,  he 
bUndly  felt  it  to  be  his  mission  to  take  the  girl  back  to  Rome 
and  restore  her  to  her  father  in  whose  service  he  dully  believed 
himself  still  to  be,  or  else  to  deliver  her  to  Vetranio,  again 
demanding  as  the  price  of  his  service  the  restoration  of  the 
pagan  worship.  In  brief,  he  did  not  know  what  he  sought, 
but  he  blindly  pursued  his  way.  With  the  strange  cunning  of 
insanity,  he  passed  through  the  sentry  lines,  forcing  Antonina 
to  accompany  him.  Her  longing  to  find  her  father  and  secure 
his  pardon  made  her  not  unwilling.  She  had  kept  her  father 
in  tenderest  remembrance  throughout  all  her  wanderings  and 
sufferings.  She  had  exacted  of  Hermanric,  as  the  price  of  her 
love,  a  promise  to  protect  Numerian  whenever  the  Goths 
should  enter  the  doomed  city. 

Dragging  the  girl  by  the  hand,  Ulpius  again  passed  through 
his  secret  breach  in  the  walls.  In  Rome  his  mind  became  a 
blank  again,  and  he  wandered  far,  still  dragging  Antonina  with 
him.  The  sights  that  presented  themselves  were  horrible. 
The  dead  and  the  dying  lay  together  in  the  streets.  The  Senate 
had  offered  high  money  rewards  to  those  who  should  help  rid 
the  city  of  its  pestilence-breeding  corpses,  by  casting  them  over 
the  walls;  but  money  could  not  appease  hunger  in  a  city  where 
there  was  no  food  to  be  bought  at  any  price,  and  the  weakened 
wretches  in  the  streets  were  not  tempted  to  exertion  by  any 
promise  of  worthless  pecuniary  rewards.  Bands  of  robbers 
and  murderers  wandered  about,  but  it  was  food  they  sought 
and  not  unsatisfying  gold. 

At  last,  in  his  blind  journeying  with  Antonina,  Ulpius  came 
upon  a  temple  of  Serapis,  for,  though  the  pagan  worship  had  been 
suppressed,  a  superstitious  fear  had  deterred  the  people  and 
the  Senate  from  destroying  the  temples  of  the  old  religion  or 
despoiling  them  of  their  rich  treasures  of  gold,  ivory,  and  precious 
stones.  The  sight  of  the  temple  woke  a  half-consciousness  in 
the  crazed  pagan  priest.     He  entered  the  place  and  fancied 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  21 

himself  again  a  high  priest  of  Serapis  in  the  temple  at  Alex- 
andria. Forgotten  by  her  captor,  Antonina  made  her  way  to 
her  father's  house,  intent  upon  securing  his  pardon  and  winning 
back  his  love  before  she  should  die. 

She  found  him  starving,  but  loving  her,  and  her  soul  was 
satisfied. 

Vetranio,  disappointed  in  his  effort  to  undo  his  wrong  to 
Antonina,  met  the  approach  of  starvation  in  a  spirit  of  bravado. 
He  determined  upon  an  orgy  at  the  end  of  which  he  would 
die,  as  he  had  lived,  with  the  trappings  of  luxurious  self- 
indulgence  about  him.  He  ordered  a  feast  of  famine.  There 
was  no  food  but  offal  to  be  had,  but  his  cellars  were  full  of  wine. 
He  decorated  his  palace  and  summoned  his  friends.  There 
were  ten  in  the  company  who  thus  assembled  to  die  as  they  had 
lived,  in  revel.  Ten  lamps  burned  above  them.  It  was  agreed 
that  as  one  after  another  of  the  revelers  succumbed  to  the 
wine,  one  after  another  of  the  lamps  should  be  extinguished; 
and  they  were  pledged  that  the  last  one  left  should  fire  the 
place,  so  that  their  funeral  pyre  should  be  the  costliest  palace 
in  Rome. 

The  last  to  yield  to  the  wine  proved  to  be  Vetranio  himself. 
He  set  out,  torch  in  hand,  to  fire  the  place.  He  heard  footsteps, 
and  Antonina  confronted  him.  She  had  come  to  the  palace  in 
a  last  despairing  effort  to  find  food  for  her  father.  Her  appear- 
ance and  her  appeal  awakened  in  the  half-stupefied  mind  of 
Vetranio  the  memory  of  the  purest  love  he  had  ever  known. 
There  was  a  bowl  of  offal  there,  which  he  and  his  guests  had 
disdained  to  eat.  She  took  it,  at  his  suggestion,  and  left  to 
secure  to  her  father  yet  a  little  longer  lease  of  life.  Vetranio, 
thus  arrested  in  his  suicidal  purpose,  sank  into  a  drunken  coma 
before  he  could  apply  the  torch. 

The  Senate  had  at  last  opened  negotiations  with  the  Goths. 
The  first  embassy  failed,  but,  seizing  the  opportunity  of  this 
brief  opening  of  the  gates,  the  crazed  hag,  Goisvintha,  had  made 
her  way  into  Rome,  insanely  bent  upon  finding  Antonina  and 
shedding  her  blood. 

As  Antonina  and  her  father  were  wandering  through  the 
streets  with  but  a  vague  purpose,  the  hag  caught  sight  of  them 
and  followed.     Antonina's  terror  reduced  her  to  insensibility 


22  ANTONINA 

and  her  father  took  refuge  with  her  in  the  temple  of  which 
I'lpius  had  taken  possession  as  high  priest.  He  had  gathered 
there  in  a  mountainous  pile  all  the  treasures  of  the  other  deserted 
pagan  temples. 

In  this  temple  there  was  a  device  by  which  human  sacrifice 
might  be  practised  in  secret.  A  door  in  the  wall  opened  upon 
a  dark  stakway  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  pressure  of  the 
victim's  foot  caused  a  sword  to  be  thrust  out  of  a  dragon's 
mouth  with  the  murderous  certainty  of  slaying  the  doomed 
person. 

While  Ulpius,  in  his  dazed  way,  was  apparently  planning  to 
force  Antonina  down  the  fatal  stairway  as  a  sacrifice  Goisvintha 
emerged  from  her  hiding-place  and  struck  deep  into  the  neck 
of  her  victim  with  the  knife  that  had  maimed  Hermanric. 
The  girl  fell,  apparently  dead,  but  Ulpius,  not  to  be  disappointed 
of  his  sacrifice,  bound  Goisvintha,  and  a  little  later  sent  her 
down  the  fatal  stairway  to  her  death. 

Meanwhile  the  Senate  had  at  last  made  a  treaty  with  the 
Goths  for  the  ransom  of  the  city.  A  stupendous  price  was  to 
be  paid  in  gold,  silver,  jewels,  silks,  spices,  and  precious  stones. 
In  order  to  secure  these  treasures  it  was  decided  to  despoil  the 
heathen  temples,  and  as  Ulpius  had  gathered  the  wealth  of 
many  of  them  in  the  one  over  which  he  insanely  ruled  as  high 
priest,  an  attempt  was  made  upon  it.  He  closed  the  great 
iron  gates  and,  fancying  himself  in  command  of  a  host,  resisted. 
The  place  was  fired  and  the  pagan  perished  among  his  idols. 

Antonina' s  wound  for  a  time  threatened  to  be  fatal.  But 
fortunately  the  blade,  thrust  into  her  neck  by  the  crazed  hag, 
had  been  deflected  backward  and  had  missed  the  great  blood- 
vessels. The  gates  of  the  city  being  now  open  agahi,  food  was 
to  be  had,  and  after  a  time  of  half-despairing  anxiety,  her  father, 
Vetranio  and  the  master  physician  whom  Vetranio  had  sum- 
moned to  attend  her  were  gladdened  by  signs  of  recovery,  and 
slowly  the  suffering  girl  was  brought  back  to  health. 

Vetranio  was  an  altered  man  in  every  way.  The  excesses 
of  debauchery  in  which  he  had  indulged  in  that  banquet  of 
suicide  had  shattered  his  constitution,  aged  him  in  a  remark- 
able degree,  and  robbed  him  forever  of  his  lust  for  sensuous 
self-indulgence.     Remorse  had  come  upon  him,  and  remorse 


WILLIAM  WILKIE   COLLINS  23 

had  ripened  into  that  far  better  sentiment,  repentance  with  the 
impulse  of  atonement. 

Under  advice  of  his  physician  he  decided  to  retire  to  a  villa 
on  the  Bay  of  Naples,  there  to  live  in  the  simplest  way.  But 
before  going  thither  he  purchased  the  farm  which  had  furnished 
a  refuge  to  Antonina  at  her  time  of  sorest  necessity,  and  in  the 
garden  of  which  her  hero-lover,  Hermanric,  lay  buried.  To 
his  trusted  freedman,  Carrio,  he  gave  orders  that  the  farm- 
house was  thenceforth  to  be  the  home  of  Antonina  and  her 
aged  father,  and  that  the  surrounding  acres  were  to  be  tilled 
at  his  own  expense  for  their  sole  benefit. 

He  saw  them  settled  there  in  love  and  peace,  and  having 
done  all  he  could  to  repair  the  wrong  he  had  done  to  them,  he 
departed  to  seek  quietude  and  peace  for  the  premature  old  age 
his  debauchery  had  brought  upon  him. 

Antonina  planted  flowers  about  the  grave  of  her  hero-lover 
and  devoted  herself  thenceforth  to  the  care  of  the  father  whose 
love  was  all  that  remained  to  her  of  life. 


THE  WOMAN  IN  WHITE    (i860) 

The  Woman  in  White  came  next  to  The  Moonstone  in  establishing  the  fame 
of  William  W'ilkie  Collins.  In  it  as  in  his  other  novels  he  worked  on  a  principle 
quite  dilTerent  from  that  of  Gaboriau  and  Poe  and  the  school  practically  founded 
by  them.  They  and  their  followers  begin  almost  invariably  with  the  work  of 
solution;  that  is,  the  detective  or  the  detector  enters  the  scene  at  once,  and  it  is 
the  story  of  his  accomplishment  that  gradually  unfolds  the  plot. 

T  was  a  singularly  sultry  and  foreboding  night 
in  July.  Walter  Hartright,  worn  out  by  a  sum- 
mer of  hard  toil  in  his  profession,  felt  the  pulse 
of  life  sink  low  within  him  as  he  strolled  slowly 
through  the  silent  and  lonely  darkness  of  Hamp- 
stead  Heath.  Suddenly  a  hand  was  laid  lightly 
on  his  shoulder  from  behind. 

He  turned.  There  stood  the  figure  of  a  wo- 
man, dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  white.  With 
rapid  yet  curiously  mechanical  utterance  she  asked:  "Is  that 
the  way  to  London  ?  Can  I  get  a  carriage  ?  If  you  could  show 
me  where  to  get  one — and  if  you  will  only  promise  not  to  inter- 
fere with  me — I  want  nothing  else." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  almost  impelled  him  to 
hurry  along  with  her;  and  when  at  last  a  cab  came  into  view  she 
ran  to  it,  entered  breathlessly,  and  was  whirled  toward  London. 
Walter  Hartright  had  been  walking  about  ten  minutes  more 
when  a  chaise  with  two  men  came  headlong  down  the  road  they 
had  just  traversed.  It  drew  up  near  a  solitary  policeman. 
"Have  you  seen  a  woman  pass  this  way,  policeman?"  cried 
one.  "A  woman  dressed  all  in  white!  She  has  escaped  from 
my  asylum." 

Receiving  an  answer  in  the  negative,  the  men  drove  on 
before  Hartright  could  say  a  word. 

The  incident  seemed  to  him  a  dark  omen;  for  in  her  dis- 
jointed conversation  the  woman  had  mentioned  Limmeridge 
House,  whose  dead  mistress,  Mrs.  Fairlie,  she  said,  had  been 

24 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  25 

kind  to  her  once,  long  ago.  And  that  very  evening  Waher 
Hartright  had  been  engaged  by  letter  to  act  as  drawing-master 
for  the  two  young  nieces  of  Frederick  Fairlic  of  Limmeridge 
House. 

On  his  arrival  there  he  found  Mr.  Fairlie,  shut  up  in  a 
heavily  curtained  and  carpeted  room,  devoted  entirely  to  the 
care  of  his  precious  nerves  and  anxious  to  have  the  drawing- 
lessons  begin  with  as  little  trouble  to  himself  as  possible.  As  a 
result,  Hartright  was  thrown  at  once  into  quite  uncontrolled 
companionship  with  the  two  half-sisters — Marian  Halcombe, 
bright,  amiable,  capable,  beautifully  formed  and  full  of  womanly 
grace,  but  with  a  dark  face  like  that  of  a  man;  and  Laura 
Fairlie,  bewitchingly  beautiful,  with  wonderful  eyes  of  a  tur- 
quoise blue  and  with  a  nature  as  sensitive  as  that  of  a  flower. 

Marian's  father  had  left  his  daughter  practically  nothing; 
Laura  had  inherited  a  fortune  from  her  father  and  was  the  ward 
of  his  brother,  Frederick  Fairlie,  who  had  succeeded  to  the  owner- 
ship of  Limmeridge  House. 

When  Hartright  told  Miss  Halcombe  the  story  of  his  meeting 
with  the  woman  in  white,  she  searched  through  her  mother's 
letters,  and  found  one  written  to  Mr.  Fairlie,  in  which  she  told 
him  of  a  new  pupil  whom  she  had  placed  in  her  village  school. 
"I  have  taken  a  violent  fancy,  Philip,"  she  wrote,  "to  a  little 
girl  named  Anne  Catherick.  I  have  dressed  her  in  Laura's 
old  white  frocks  and  hats  and,  my  dear  Philip,  although  she  is 
not  half  so  pretty,  she  does  still  bear  a  most  extraordinary  re- 
semblance in  hair,  color,  complexion,  eyes,  and  shape  of  face  to 
our  own  dear  Laura." 

Now  followed  three  months  of  happiness  for  master  and 
pupils,  three  months  of  sketching,  riding,  walking,  and  looking 
at  the  sea:  a  happiness  that  was  ended  suddenly  by  the  realiza- 
tion coming  to  all  three  at  once  that  Walter  Hartright  and 
Laura  Fairlie  were  in  love. 

Marian  Halcombe  with  her  downright  honesty  spoke  to  him 
and  counseled  that  he  go  away,  since  Laura  had  been  engaged 
for  some  time  to  Sir  Percival  Clyde  in  obedience  to  her  father's 
dying  desire;  and  Hartright  realized  that  there  was  another 
obstacle  in  the  difference  of  their  fortunes. 

Before  he  departed  an   anonymous  letter   came  to  Laura 


26  THE  WOMAN  IN  WHITE 

Fairlic,  warning  her  in  mysterious  and  passionate  language  not 
to  marry  Sir  Pcrcival  Glyde.  Search  for  the  elderly  woman 
who  had  given  it  to  the  gardener  proved  fruitless;  but  in  the 
course  of  that  search  Hartright  and  Miss  Halcombe  learned 
that  the  village  was  excited  over  the  story  of  a  boy  who  had  seen 
the  white  figure  of  a  ghost  standing  beside  Mrs.  Fairlie's 
gravestone  the  night  before. 

That  evening  Hartright  concealed  himself  in  the  church, 
feelmg  little  doubt  as  to  the  discovery  that  he  was  to  make.  A 
white  figure  stole  through  the  dark,  kneeled  down  and  began  to 
clean  the  stone  where  it  was  discolored.  Stepping  out  he  con- 
fronted Anne  Catherick,  the  woman  in  white.  And  in  that 
moment  he  saw,  too,  that  except  for  the  effects  of  suffering  and 
sorrow  her  face  was  that  of  Laura  Fairlie. 

He  learned  that  she  was  staying  at  a  farm  near-by  in  com- 
pany with  a  ]\trs.  Clements,  who  had  nursed  her  in  childhood 
and  to  whose  home  in  London  she  had  escaped  from  the 
asylum.  She  confessed  that  she  had  written  the  anonymous 
letter,  but  when  he  mentioned  the  Baronet's  name  she  became 
quite  wild  and  fled. 

When  Miss  Halcombe  went  to  the  farm  the  next  day  Anne 
Catherick  had  disappeared  again. 

Weighed  down  not  only  by  the  heavy  sorrow  that  his  hope- 
less love  had  brought  to  him,  but  also  by  his  fear  that  Laura 
Fairlie  was  about  to  marry  a  villain,  Hartright  departed  and 
sought  to  forget  by  joining  an  expedition  into  Central  America. 

Sir  Percival  Glyde,  a  prepossessing  and  handsome  man,  ar- 
rived at  Limmeridge  House  soon  after.  He  explained  his  con- 
nection with  Anne  Catherick  most  readily  and  convincingly.  He 
had  sent  her  to  an  asylum  at  the  instance  of  her  mother,  who  had 
rendered  his  family  faithful  service.  A  letter  of  inquiry  to  Mrs. 
Catherick,  upon  which  he  insisted,  brought  a  reply  declaring 
that  Sir  Percival  had  been  most  kind  to  her  afflicted  daughter. 

Still  Marian  could  not  rid  herself  of  the  impression  that 
there  was  some  dark  mystery  behind  it  all,  and  her  distrust 
of  Sir  Percival  was  not  lessened  when  he  insisted  that  the  mar- 
riage settlement  provide  that  in  the  event  of  Laura's  death  all 
her  fortune  should  pass  to  him.  Laura's  faithful  old  lawyer  bit- 
terly opposed  this.     But  Frederick  Fairlie  protested  petulantly 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  27 

against  being  annoyed  by  trivial  details  and  gave  his  consent 
as  Laura's  guardian,  Laura  herself  had  begun  to  lose  all 
interest  in  life  since  the  departure  of  Walter  Hartright,  and 
Marian  Halcombe  saw  w^ith  a  heavy  heart  that  her  dear  sister 
v^as  doomed  to  a  future  of  unavailing  and  bitter  sorrow.  She 
consented  to  everything  proposed  listlessly  and  wearily;  and 
listlessly,  wearily  she  was  married. 

It  was  summer  when  Sir  Percival  Clyde  and  his  wife  came 
home  from  Italy  to  Blackwater  Park,  where  Marian  met  them. 
With  them  came  Count  Fosco  and  his  wife,  who  was  Laura's 
aunt  on  her  father's  side.  Count  Fosco  interested  Marian 
strangely;  Laura  was  evidently  in  almost  abject  fear  of  him. 
He  was  an  immensely  fat  man,  yet  lithe  and  noiseless  as  a  cat, 
with  a  face  like  Napoleon's  on  a  large  scale  and  compelling  gray 
eyes. 

Sir  Percival  was  at  once  rude  to  him  and  afraid  of  him. 
His  wife — who  as  Miss  Fairlie  had  been  notoriously  self-willed 
and  whimsical — was  as  submissive  to  him  as  a  hound. 

From  the  beginning  Fosco  played  the  role  of  mediator. 
Again  and  again  he  checked  Sir  Percival  when  the  latter  was 
on  the  point  of  being  impolite  or  worse  to  Laura.  Despite 
his  efforts,  however,  the  time  came  soon  when  the  Baronet 
threw  off  the  mask  and  appeared  in  his  true  colors. 

His  solicitor  appeared  suddenly  in  Blackwater  Park  and  the 
two  had  a  heated  conversation.  Marian  accidentally  over- 
heard enough  to  know  that  the  Baronet's  creditors  were  pressing 
him  hard  and  that  he  could  escape  ruin  only  by  getting  hold  of 
some  of  Laura's  fortune.  "You  quite  understand.  Sir  Perci- 
val ?"  the  lawyer  was  saying.  "Lady  Clyde  need  merely  sign 
her  name  in  the  presence  of  two  witnesses  and  then  put  her  finger 
on  the  seal  and  say,  'I  deliver  this  as  my  act  and  deed.'  " 

Marian  warned  Laura,  with  the  result  that  when  Sir  Perci- 
val laid  a  folded  paper  before  her  for  her  signature  she  refused 
to  sign  until  she  had  read  it.  His  black  temper  broke  instantly. 
He  reiterated  his  demand  that  she  sign  at  once,  and  when  she 
still  refused  assailed  her  with  shameful  insult.  Fosco  inter- 
fered again.  He  took  Sir  Percival  aside,  and  afterward  in- 
formed Miss  Halcombe  that  the  question  would  not  be  raised 
again. 


28  THE   WOMAN  IN   WHITE 

Soon  after  Laura  mcl  the  woman  in  white  in  a  little  pine 
wood  near  the  house.  "I  have  been  waiting  days — I  have 
risked  being  shut  up  again  in  the  madhouse,"  said  the  woman 
in  white,  "  and  all  for  you,  Miss  Fairlie,  to  save  you.  If  you 
knew  his  secret  he  would  be  afraid  of  you,  and  if  I  can  make 
him  treat  you  mercifully,  perhaps  I  shall  meet  your  mother  in 
heaven.  My  mother  knows  the  secret,  too,  and  has  wasted 
under  it  half  her  lifetime." 

Startled  by  a  noise,  she  whispered:  "To-morrow — here," 
and  fled.  The  next  day  when  Marian  followed  Laura  to  the 
place,  according  to  agreement,  she  found  no  one.  Going 
back  to  the  house  she  found  that  Laura  had  returned,  sobbing, 
in  the  company  of  her  husband,  who  had  ordered  her  locked  in 
her  room  under  the  guard  of  a  servant.  It  was  only  after  the 
intervention  of  Count  Fosco  that  Marian  was  permitted  to  see 
her  sister.  Laura  told  her  that  she  had  not  seen  Anne  Catherick, 
but  had  discovered  the  word  "Look"  traced  in  the  sand,  and 
had  found  there  a  buried  letter  in  which  Anne  wrote  that 
she  had  been  seen  by  a  tall,  stout  man,  and  did  not  dare  to  keep 
the  a])pointment,  but  would  come  again  as  soon  as  possible. 

While  Laura  was  reading  this  note  her  husband  came, 
seized  her  by  the  arm,  said  that  he  knew  of  her  interview  the 
preceding  day,  and  angrily  demanded  to  know  what  she  had 
learned.  When  she  told  him  all  that  the  woman  in  white  had 
said,  he  laughed  mockingly,  and  replied  that  she  knew  more. 
"And  you  shall  tell  it,"  he  shouted.  "I'll  wring  it  out  of  you!" 
and  dragged  her  to  the  house. 

That  evening  Marian  discovered  that  Sir  Percival  and 
Count  Fosco  were  together  in  the  library.  She  stole  along  the 
leaden  roof  and  crouched  near  the  edge  where  she  could  hear — 
for  she  was  willing  to  dare  all  to  save  her  sister. 

She  learned  that  they  were  plotting  Laura's  death,  by  which 
Fosco's  wife  would  receive  ten  thousand  pounds  and  Sir  Per- 
cival would  be  released  from  his  difficulties. 

The  Count  then  demanded  to  know  the  secret  about  Anne 
Catherick.  Sir  Percival  refused  to  tell  him  what  it  was,  but 
said  she  knew  what  would  ruin  him. 

Fosco  thought  he  could  find  her  and  asked  how  she  looked. 

"She's  a  sickly  image  of  my  wife,"  said  Sir  Percival,  and 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  29 

Marian  heard  an  exclamation  from  Fosco,  followed  by  a  curious 
laugh. 

When  at  last  the  conversation  was  ended,  Marian  was  so 
cold  and  stiff  from  the  rain  that  had  been  falling  that  she  could 
scarcely  arise.  She  crawled  back  to  her  room  and  fell  senseless 
on  the  floor. 

Thus  they  found  her  the  next  morning,  delirious.  Count 
Fosco  at  once  sent  his  wife  to  London,  whence  she  returned 
with  a  nurse,  a  small,  wiry,  sly  person,  Mrs.  Rubelle.  Within 
a  week  the  illness  became  a  deadly  fever,  and  it  was  three  weeks 
before  the  danger  was  over. 

WTien  the  change  for  the  better  took  place  Count  Fosco 
picked  a  quarrel  with  the  doctor,  who  dropped  the  case  in- 
dignantly. On  the  same  day  Sir  Percival  announced  that  he 
would  break  up  the  establishment,  and  discharged  all  the  ser- 
vants at  once.  Within  twenty-four  hours  there  remained 
in  it,  besides  the  family,  only  Mrs.  Rubelle  and  a  stupid  maid. 

Laura,  worn  out  with  watching  Marian,  could  not  leave 
her  room  for  a  few  days.  When  she  did  she  found  Marian's 
room  empty.  Sir  Percival  told  her  that  Marian  had  left  with 
Count  Fosco  and  his  wife  for  their  new  home  in  St.  John's  Wood, 
in  London,  where  she  intended  to  stay  for  a  few  days  before 
going  on  to  Limmeridge  House. 

Laura  insisted  on  following;  Sir  Percival,  so  recently  bent 
on  keeping  her  a  prisoner,  made  no  objection,  and  she  went  the 
following  morning,  quite  alone. 

Marian  Halcombe  had  not,  however,  left  Blackwater  Park. 
She  was  lying  in  another  wing  of  the  building,  to  which  she  had 
been  removed  secretly  while  in  a  deep  sleep  following  the  fever. 

Two  days  later  her  worst  forebodings  were  more  than 
realized.  The  news  came  from  Fosco  that  Laura  had  died 
from  heart-disease  in  his  house  the  day  after  her  arrival. 

Three  months  afterward  Walter  Hartright  returned  from 
Central  America,  with  the  image  of  Laura  Fairlie  brighter  than 
ever  in  his  soul — to  learn  that  she  was  dead. 

In  a  quiet  autumn  afternoon  he  reached  the  graveyard  at 
Limmeridge,  where  he  had  once  waited  for  the  woman  in  white. 
He  kneeled  beside  the  cross  on  which  was  now  a  new  inscrip- 
tion: "Sacred  to  the  Memory  of  Laura,  Lady  Clyde."     Lying 


30  THE  WOMAN  IN  WHITE 

with  his  head  on  the  base  of  the  stone  and  his  eyes  closed,  he 
was  roused  by  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and  looking  up  he  saw 
two  veiled  women.  One  of  them  raised  her  veil.  It  was  Marian, 
worn,  wasted,  and  changed.  The  other  woman  came  slowly  on, 
stepped  to  the  side  of  the  cross,  and  raised  her  veil.  Walter 
Hartright,  staring  at  her  with  unutterable  dread,  saw  Laura, 
Lady  Clyde,  looking  at  him  over  the  grave. 

His  heart  turned  faint,  his  mind  sank  into  darkness  and 
confusion.  It  was  long  before  he  could  grasp  the  purport  of  the 
story  that  Marian  Halcombe  had  to  tell. 

For  three  weeks  after  she  received  the  news  from  Fosco 
she  remained  unable  to  move.  Then  she  hurried  at  once  to 
Limmcridge  House,  where  she  found  two  letters.  One  was  from 
her  old  lawyer,  who  at  her  request  had  investigated  the  circum- 
stances thoroughly  and  reported  that  there  was  no  doubt  that 
Laura's  death  had  been  perfectly  natural.  She  had  been 
overcome  with  heart-disease,  superinduced  by  worry  and  ex- 
citement, and  the  highly  reputable  physicians  who  attended  her 
had  watched  the  progress  of  the  illness  from  the  first  attack 
to  the  end. 

The  other  letter  was  from  Count  Fosco  to  Mr.  Fairlie. 
It  gave  all  the  details  of  Laura's  illness  and  death.  In  a 
postscript  he  mentioned  that  Anne  Catherick  had  been  cap- 
tured and  returned  to  the  asylum,  and  he  warned  Mr.  Fairlie 
that  she  might  try  to  annoy  him  with  letters,  because  her  insane 
hatred  of  Sir  Percival  had  taken  a  new  turn.  She  was  now 
under  the  delusion  that  she  was  not  Anne  Catherick,  but  Lady 
Clyde. 

Despite  all  this  evidence  Marian  could  not  rid  herself  of 
the  belief  that  her  sister  had  been  murdered.  But  the 
detectives  she  employed  reported  that  Sir  Percival  had  gone  to 
Paris  before  Lady  Clyde  died,  and  was  living  there  quietly; 
and  that  there  was  absolutely  nothing  suspicious  about  the 
Foscos. 

Foiled  at  all  points,  she  decided  to  see  Anne  Catherick, 
went  to  the  asylum  and  was  directed  to  a  part  of  the  grounds 
where  the  patient  was  then  walking  with  an  attendant.  When 
she  got  there  she  found — Laura. 

The  next  day,  when  Laura  was  taken  for  a  walk,  as  usual, 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  31 

the  attendant,  who  had  yielded  to  a  heavy  bribe  from  Marian, 
allowed  her  to  escape,  and  that  night  found  the  two  sisters  safe 
in  Limmeridge  House. 

Laura,  whose  mind  had  been  terribly  shaken  by  the  frightful 
events  that  had  crowded  on  her,  remembered  only  that  Count 
Fosco  had  met  her  and  taken  her  to  a  house  in  London,  where  he 
gave  her  something  to  counteract  a  sudden  faintness.  She 
became  still  more  giddy.  Two  strangers  entered  the  room, 
looked  at  her  curiously  and  asked  her  curious  questions.  Then 
she  fainted  again  and  when  she  recovered  she  was  in  the  asylum. 

The  plot  was  clear  as  day.  But  there  arose  a  simple  and 
yet  insuperable  obstacle  against  proving  it. 

Frederick  Fairlie  angrily  declared  that  Marian  had  allowed 
herself  to  be  duped  by  Anne  Catherick,  insisting  that  he  could 
not  recognize  his  niece  in  the  worn  woman  before  him.  The 
servants,  too,  who  had  not  seen  Laura  since  her  marriage,  were 
uncertain.  She  had  left  Limmeridge  House  a  blooming  young 
girl.     She  returned  a  pale,  haggard,  wild-eyed  woman. 

Marian  realized  that  there  was  no  hope  except  in  instant 
flight.  The  conspirators  would  spare  neither  money  nor 
effort  to  recapture  Laura.  Mr.  Fairlie  would  help  them, 
convinced  as  he  was  that  she  was  truly  Anne  Catherick.  The 
sisters  went  to  the  graveyard  for  a  farewell  visit,  and  there  they 
found  Walter  Hartright. 

A  week  later  three  plainly  dressed  people  took  cheap  lodg- 
ings in  a  poor  and  crowded  neighborhood  in  London's  east  side. 
The  man  described  himself  as  an  artist  and  the  two  women  as 
his  sisters.  There,  shut  out  from  all  his  old  sources  of  income, 
Walter  Hartright  obtained  work  under  an  assumed  name. 
He  and  Marian  set  aside  their  small  fortunes  for  the  work  of  ex- 
posing the  plot  that  had  robbed  Laura  of  her  fortune  and  her 
identity,  and  lived  rigorously  on  Walter's  small  earnings.  Their 
old  lawyer,  secretly  approached,  could  give  them  no  hope.  He 
had  not  seen  Laura  in  years.  He  pointed  out  that  with  Mr. 
Fairlie's  evidence  against  them  the  task  was  hopeless.  Indeed, 
he  himself  inclined  to  believe  Marian  and  Hartright  the  dupes 
of  a  mad  woman's  delusion — dupes  whom  the  courts  of  law 
would  be  more  inclined  to  look  upon  as  calculating  agents. 

When  Walter  Hartright  reported  this  to  Marian,  he  said: 


32  THE   WOMAN   IN   WHITE 

"There  is  only  one  hope.  It  is  in  the  secret  that  Anne  Cather- 
ick  and  her  mother  knew.  If  its  betrayal  means  ruin  to  Sir 
Percival,  its  knowledge  will  give  us  a  club  to  force  confession 
from  him." 

Acting  on  this  conviction,  he  sought  Mrs.  Clements.  She 
told  him  all  she  knew.  Mrs.  Catherick  and  she  had  been 
neighbors  twenty-two  years  ago  in  Old  Welmingham,  where 
Mrs.  Catherick's  husband  was  parish  clerk.  He  had  left 
her  suddenly  after  discovering  that  she  had  held  several  secret 
meetings  with  Sir  Percival  Clyde  in  the  vestry  of  the  church. 
About  the  same  time  Anne  was  born,  and  Mrs.  Clements  had 
nursed  her  and  gradually  come  to  look  on  her  almost  as  her  own 
daughter,  since  her  mother  seemed  to  hate  her. 

With  this  meager  information  he  hurried  to  Old  Welming- 
ham. From  Mrs.  Catherick  he  elicited  nothing.  His  other 
inquiries  in  the  town  were  equally  fruitless,  except  that  he  found 
the  secret  had  something  to  do  with  a  happening  in  those  far- 
off  days  in  the  vestry. 

Feeling  himself  against  a  dead  wall,  Hartright  sought  the 
old  parish  clerk,  who  had  taken  Catherick's  place  when  that 
man  left  the  country  after  the  scandal.  The  talkative  old  fel- 
low cheerfully  showed  Hartright  everything,  including  the 
church  register,  and  the  artist  at  once  looked  through  the  entries 
under  the  years  that  would  about  correspond  with  Sir  Percival's 
birth.  After  a  long  search  his  eye  was  caught  by  an  entry 
crowded  in  the  most  peculiar  and  suspicious  way  into  a  tiny 
space  at  the  bottom  of  the  page.  It  recorded  the  marriage 
of  Cecilia  Jane  Elster  to  Sir  Felix  Clyde. 

When  the  old  clerk  put  the  register  away  again  Hartright 
remarked  on  the  insecure  place  in  which  it  was  stored,  guarded 
as  it  was  by  a  rusty  old  lock  and  surrounded  by  the  accumulated 
litter  of  a  century. 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  the  old  man,  "our  old  vestry  counsel  used  to 
worry  about  that,  too.  And  he  kept  an  exact  copy  of  it  in  his 
safe  in  Knowlesbury,  near  here.     Very  few  know  of  it." 

Hartright  saw  a  gleam  of  hope.  If,  as  he  had  immediately 
suspected,  the  entry  of  the  marriage  was  a  forgery,  it  could  be 
proved  from  the  duplicate  register.  All  the  old  stories  that  he 
had  heard  about  the  curious,  hidden  life  of  Sir  Percival's  parents 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  33 

came  back  to  him.  He  hastened  to  Knowlesbury.  There 
was  no  entry  of  any  marriage  of  Sir  Fehx  Clyde. 

This  was  the  secret!  It  was  in  Hartright's  hand  at  last. 
The  disclosure  of  that  secret  would  prove  Sir  Percival  an  illegiti- 
mate child  and  thus  strip  him  of  the  estate.  The  disclosure 
of  the  forgery  would  send  him  to  prison ! 

He  determined  to  make  sure  that  the  register  in  the  vestry 
of  the  church  was  put  into  a  safe  place  at  once.  Returning  to 
Old  Welmingham  he  reached  the  clerk's  house  after  dark,  and 
they  hurried  to  the  church.  A  light  shone  from  within,  but 
the  door  was  barred.  As  they  arrived  the  light  changed  to  a 
leaping  blaze.  A  hand  within  began  to  turn  the  key,  but  the 
rusty  lock  refused  to  obey.  The  hidden  man  threw  himself 
against  the  mighty  door.  In  vain!  In  another  moment  the 
whole  vestry,  combustible  as  tinder,  was  a  mass  of  fire.  Scream 
after  scream  came  from  within.  Then  all  was  still  save  the 
roar  of  the  flame. 

When  the  firemen  at  last  ventured  to  enter  they  found  the 
terribly  burned  body  of  a  man  lying  face  down  in  a  corner. 
It  was  Sir  Percival  Clyde. 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Catherick  confessed  that  this  was  indeed 
the  secret.  Sir  Percival's  parents  never  had  been  married  and 
she  had  been  bribed  by  him  to  steal  her  husband's  keys  and  to 
help  him  make  the  forged  entry.  The  resemblance  of  Anne 
Catherick  to  Laura  was  explained  by  the  fact  that  she  was  a 
natural  daughter  of  Laura's  father. 

And  now  that  the  secret  was  learned  at  last,  it  was  useless ! 

But  here  Chance — blind,  inscrutable  Chance — was  to  step  in 
and  complete  what  human  wit  could  not.  It  led  straight  to 
Count  Fosco — Fosco,  whose  plot  had  worked  itself  out  with  such 
terrible  smoothness;  Fosco,  in  whose  armor  there  seemed  no 
vulnerable  link,  against  whose  fearful  intellect  there  seemed  no 
weapon. 

Many  months  had  passed — months  of  unavailing  effort. 
Unavailing  as  they  were,  however,  in  the  direction  of  reinstating 
Laura,  they  had  brought  a  great  happiness;  for  she  had  been 
married  to  Walter  Hartright. 

One  evening  Hartright  was  with  an  Italian  friend,  a  refugee 
whose  life  he  had  once  saved,  when  they  met  Count  Fosco  face 
A.  D.,  VOL.  v.— 3 


34  THE   WOMAN  IN  WHITE 

to   face.     In   that   instant   the   huge,   lordly,    masterful   man 
seemed  to  cower  and  slirink;  he  turned  leaden  pale  and  fled. 

Hartright  urged  his  friend  till  the  latter  told  him  that  he  was 
a  leader  in  a  great  secret  brotherhood  and  that  Fosco,  also  a 
leader  at  one  time,  had  betrayed  its  secrets.  The  duty  lay 
upon  him  under  the  most  sacred  of  oaths  to  set  the  brotherhood's 
agents  on  his  trail  without  delay. 

Thus  armed  by  Chance,  Hartright  boldly  entered  the  Fosco 
house,  which  he  found  disordered,  in  evident  preparation  for 
hasty  flight.  Under  the  threat  to  notify  the  brotherhood  at  once, 
he  forced  a  written  confession.  Fosco  told  how  he  had  traced 
Anne  Catherick  to  London  and  had  lured  her  to  his  house, 
where  she  had  disturbed  his  arrangements  by  dying  a  day  too 
soon,  for  she  died  a  day  before  Laura  left  Blackwater  Park; 
but,  luckily  for  his  plans,  no  one  remembered  that  date. 

Laura  arrived  the  next  day  and  was  taken  to  Mrs.  Rubelle's 
house,  where  two  medical  men  saw  her  and  certified  to  her 
insanity,  after  which  she  was  taken  to  the  asylum. 

Fosco's  confession  related  all  the  steps  in  the  conspiracy  in 
close  detail — he  bemg  further  incited  to  accuracy  and  fulness 
by  the  promise  that  no  steps  would  be  taken  to  recover  from  his 
wife  the  ten  thousand  pounds  which  she  had  received  on  proof 
of  Laura's  death. 

With  the  exact  dates  of  all  the  steps  of  the  conspiracy  in  his 
possession — the  total  lack  of  which  had  been  a  fatal  flaw 
hitherto — Hartright  easily  obtained  sufficient  legal  proof.  With- 
in a  week  Laura's  name  was  struck  from  the  tombstone  in 
Limmeridge  and  Mr.  Fairlie  had  acknowledged  her  openly 
as  his  niece. 

Fosco  fled  to  France  and  lived  there  in  disguise  and  close  con- 
cealment. But  the  brotherhood  found  him  before  the  year 
was  out.  Scarcely  had  the  news  of  his  death  removed  the 
last  lingering  shadow  of  fear  from  Laura,  before  the  news  of 
another  death  came — simultaneously  with  the  birth  of  a  son  to 
Walter  and  Laura.  The  death  was  that  of  Mr.  Fairlie;  and 
Walter  Hartright's  son  was  the  heir  of  Limmeridge  House. 


ARMADALE  (1866) 

A  curious  coincidence  with  respect  to  this  story  is  that  after  thirteen  monthly 
instalments  of  it  had  been  published  in  a  magazine  three  men  one  after  another 
died  of  carbon-dioxide  suffocation  on  a  ship  at  Liverpool,  precisely  as  Miss 
Gwilt  died  in  the  novel,  and  as  Miss  G\vilt  had  planned  that  Armadale  should 
die.  The  name  of  the  ship,  strangely  enough,  was  Armadale.  The  novel 
had  an  extraordinary  success,  and  it  is  still  one  of  the  most  generally  remem- 
bered romances  of  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  centur>'.  It  illustrates,  per- 
haps better  than  any  other  of  its  author's  works,  his  marvelous  power  of  ingen- 
ious dramatic  construction. 


T  the  opening  of  the  season  of  1832,  Allan 
Armadale,  an  Englishman  of  the  West  Indies, 
arrived  at  Wildbad,  in  Germany,  with  his  wife, 
a  beautiful  woman  with  a  slight  taint  of  negro 
blood,  and  their  baby  boy. 

At  the  same  time  came  a  surly  Scotchman 
named  Neal. 

Armadale  had  been  stricken  with  paralysis, 
so  that  he  was  unable  to  finish  a  certain  con- 
fession which  he  had  begun  to  write.  He  did  not  wish  his  wife 
to  know  the  facts  set  forth  in  the  confession,  and  so,  with  much 
difficulty,  he  prevailed  upon  the  surly  Scotchman,  Neal,  to 
take  down  the  remainder  of  it  and  to  see  to  it  that  the  manu- 
script should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  his  representatives,  to 
be  delivered  to  his  baby  boy  when  he  should  be  old  enough  to 
receive  it. 

The  man  making  the  confession  had  been  born  Allan 
Wrentmorc.  At  the  age  of  twenty-one  he  had  been  adopted  by 
Allan  Armadale,  his  kinsman,  as  heir  to  his  estates  in  Barba- 
dos, upon  condition  that  he  should  take  his  benefactor's  name 
of  Armadale.  The  benefactor  had  cast  off  his  own  son,  Allan 
Armadale,  for  misdemeanors  which  were  unforgivable. 

The  young  man,  thus  possessed  of  an  estate,  needed  a  clerk 
or  bailiff.     A  certain  Fergus  Ingleby  applied  for  the  place ;  Allan 

35 


36  ARMADALE 

Armadale  liked  him,  and,  in  spite  of  the  unsatisfactory  charac- 
ter of  his  references,  appointed  him  to  the  place. 

Armadale's  mother,  distrusting  Ingleby,  sought  to  remove 
her  son  from  his  influence  by  sending  the  latter  to  England. 
She  wrote  to  her  kinsman,  Mr.  Blanchard  of  Thorpe-Ambrose 
in  England — a  man  who  had  loved  her  in  his  youth — and  ar- 
ranged with  him  an  invitation  for  her  son  to  visit  him,  with  the 
purpose  that  the  youth  should  marry  Miss  Blanchard,  the 
heiress  of  the  great  Thorpe- Ambrose  property.  Mr.  Blanchard 
and  his  daughter  were  about  to  go  to  Madeira  for  health,  and 
it  was  arranged  that  Allan  should  join  them  there. 

He  told  the  whole  story  to  Ingleby.  Soon  afterward,  and 
before  his  vessel  was  ready  to  sail,  he  was  taken  ill.  When  he 
recovered,  Ingleby  had  disappeared. 

By  a  later  ship  Allan  Armadale  went  to  Madeira,  but  when 
he  arrived  there  he  found  that  Ingleby,  who  was  in  fact  the  dis- 
inherited Allan  Armadale  and  whose  father  had  meanwhile  died, 
had  preceded  him  and  had  married  Miss  Blanchard  under  his 
proper  name,  passing  himself  off  as  the  adopted  heir  of  his 
father.  The  marriage  had  of  course  required  correspondence 
with  the  adopted  Allan  Armadale's  mother  while  he  still  lay 
sick  at  Barbados,  but  Miss  Blanchard  had  found  means  of 
preventing  discovery.  She  had  in  her  service  a  girl  of  the 
lower  classes,  LydiaGwilt,  whom  she  was  training  to  be  her  maid. 
Lydia  cleverly  forged  the  necessary  letters  from  Mrs.  Wrent- 
more.  Ingleby — as  Allan  Armadale— was  married  to  Miss 
Blanchard,  and  her  fortune  became  his,  beyond  her  father's 
control.  The  two  frankly  confessed  the  fraud  they  had  prac- 
tised, but  the  confession  could  not  undo  the  facts  or  win  the 
father's  forgiveness. 

Allan  Armadale  challenged  Ingleby,  after  blows  had  oc- 
curred, and  Ingleby  accepted.  But  before  the  meeting  could 
take  place,  Ingleby  and  his  wife  had  sailed  for  Lisbon  on  the 
French  lumber-ship,  La  Grace  de  Dieu. 

Mr,  Blanchard,  father  of  the  young  woman,  decided  to  fol- 
low them  in  a  swift  yacht;  Allan  Armadale,  under  an  assumed 
name,  being  enlisted  as  a  seaman  on  the  little  vessel. 

The  timber-ship  was  overhauled  in  a  water-logged  and 
sinking  condition.    The  yacht  took  off  the  ship's  company, 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  37 

with  the  exception  of  Ingleby.  Allan  Armadale  had  locked 
him  in  the  cabin  and  left  him  there  to  drown. 

No  suspicion  of  Armadale's  guilt  arose  except  in  the  mind 
of  the  real  Allan  Armadale's  widow.  No  prosecution  followed. 
The  guilty  man  went  back  to  the  West  Indies  and  there  married 
the  wife  who  was  with  him  when  his  dying  confession  was  made. 
The  confession  was  addressed  to  the  guilty  man's  infant  son, 
and  ended  with  a  superstitious  warning  to  him  to  avoid  all  con- 
tact with  the  posthumous  son  of  the  true  Allan  Armadale,  lest 
evil  come  of  it. 

The  young  widow  of  the  drovmed  Allan  Armadale  gave  birth 
to  a  posthumous  son  whom  she  named  Allan.  The  circum- 
stances of  her  marriage  had  estranged  her  from  her  two  brothers, 
sons  of  Mr.  Blanchard  of  Thorpe- Ambrose,  who  by  this  time 
had  died.  She  retired  with  her  boy  to  Somersetshire  and  in- 
duced the  bachelor  rector  there,  the  Rev.  Decimus  Brock,  to  take 
charge  of  little  Allan's  education. 

When  the  boy  was  sixteen,  Mr.  Brock  saw  an  advertise- 
ment inquiring  for  the  whereabouts  of  "Allan  Armadale," 
and  brought  it  to  Mrs.  Armadale's  attention.  She,  knowing  that 
it  related  to  the  other  boy,  the  son  of  her  husband's  murderer, 
explained  no  further  than  that  it  did  not  concern  her  son.  She 
entreated  Mr.  Brock,  however,  to  guard  her  son  against  all  pos- 
sible contact  with  the  other  Allan  Armadale.  A  woman  had 
visited  her,  a  veiled  woman,  with  whom  Mr.  Brock  had  twice 
spoken,  but  whose  face  he  had  not  seen.  She  had  extorted 
money  from  Mrs.  Armadale  and  had  threatened  to  reveal  her- 
self to  young  Armadale.  She  was  none  other  than  the  Lydia 
Gwilt  who  had  aided,  by  forgery,  the  marriage  of  Mrs.  Arma- 
dale. Without  revealing  this  fact,  Mrs.  Armadale,  on  her  death- 
bed, entreated  Brock  to  keep  that  woman  from  all  contact  with 
her  son. 

About  that  time  a  young  man,  crazed  by  a  fever,  was  found 
wandering  in  the  fields  and  was  taken  to  the  tavern.  Books 
in  his  carpetbag  showed  him  to  be  a  scholar  in  Greek  and 
German,  and  when  he  came  to  himself  he  gave  his  name  as 
Ozias  Midwinter.  Allan  Armadale  became  his  enthusiastic 
friend,  and  even  before  the  young  man  returned  to  consciousness 
Allan  had  made  himself  responsible  for  his  bills.     But  Ozias 


38  ARMADALE 

ISIidwintcr  had  some  small  resources  of  his  own,  and  upon  his 
recovery  he  drew  upon  them  and  paid  his  own  bills.  Allan 
Armadale's  generous  conduct,  however,  had  so  deeply  im- 
pressed his  sensitive  nature  that  he  became  almost  dog-like  in 
his  devotion  to  his  young  friend.  Unable  or  unwilling  to  give 
an  account  of  himself  in  answer  to  Mr.  Brock's  inquiries.  Mid- 
winter undertook  to  leave  the  place  at  once.  Allan  on  horse- 
back followed  and  overtook  him,  exacting  his  promise  that  he 
would  send  him  his  London  address. 

Then  Mrs.  Armadale  died,  soon  after  the  visit  of  the  strange 
veiled  woman,  who,  she  admitted  to  Mr.  Brock,  had  been 
associated,  before  Allan's  birth,  with  an  event  of  which  she 
could  not  think  without  shame. 

In  answer  to  Mr.  Brock's  appeal,  Mrs.  Armadale's  brothers 
refused  to  renew  friendly  relations  with  the  isolated  boy.  He 
had  enough  money  for  his  maintenance,  and  he  had  built  a 
yacht  with  his  own  hands. 

Another  advertisement  for  the  missing  Allan  Armadale 
brought  Ozias  Midwinter,  who  was  in  fact  the  other  Allan  Ar- 
madale, into  possession  of  a  small  but  secure  income. 

About  the  same  time  three  sudden  deaths  made  the  Allan 
Armadale  of  Somersetshire  owner  of  the  great  Blanchard 
estate  of  Thorpe-Ambrose,  with  its  income  of  eight  thousand 
pounds  a  year. 

With  boyish  generosity  Allan  gave  the  Blanchard  ladies  as 
long  a  time  as  they  might  like  before  quitting  their  old  home, 
and,  having  found  Midwinter,  he  went  away  for  a  yachting 
cruise  during  the  two  months  for  which  the  ladies  had  elected 
to  stay  at  Thorpe-Ambrose. 

The  drifting  away  of  a  boat  left  Allan  and  Midwinter 
alone  for  a  night  on  a  wrecked  vessel,  the  same  on  which 
Midwinter's  father  had  murdered  Allan's  father. 

During  the  night  Allan  fell  asleep  and  dreamed.  Midwinter, 
full  of  superstition,  insisted  that  he  should  put  his  dream  into 
writing,  and  accepted  it  as  a  supernatural  warning  of  evil  to  come 
through  himself  to  his  friend  Allan  Armadale.  The  light- 
hearted  Allan  laughed  the  superstition  to  scorn  and  decided  that 
upon  taking  possession  of  the  Thorpe-Ambrose  property  he 
would  make  Midwinter  his  steward  and  take  him  to  live  with 


WILLIAM  WILKIE  COLLINS  39 

him.  This  left  the  steward's  cottage  vacant,  and  two  applica- 
tions came  for  the  lease  of  it.  One  was  from  Darch,  the 
solicitor  who  had  informed  Allan  of  his  inheritance,  and  the 
other  from  a  retired  military  officer,  Major  Milroy.  By  the 
toss  of  a  coin  Allan  decided  to  accept  the  Major's  offer  and  re- 
ject that  of  the  lawyer.  Soon  afterward  Allan  learned  that  his 
tenants,  and  the  principal  gentlefolk  round  about  Thorpe- 
Ambrose,  were  planning  a  great  reception  for  him  when  he 
should  come  to  take  possession  of  his  estate.  They  had  speeches 
prepared,  arches  planned,  festivities  arranged  for,  and  pro- 
cessions organized.  But  Allan  hated  ostentation,  and  he 
resolved  to  defeat  all  these  arrangements  by  going  suddenly  to 
Thorpe- Ambrose  and  quietly'  taking  possession.  In  doing  so 
he  offended  the  whole  community,  and  when,  at  Midwinter's 
suggestion,  he  sought  to  atone  by  making  first  calls  upon  the 
gentry  round  about,  he  was  everywhere  received  with  a  coldness 
that  left  him  socially  ostracized. 

When  he  wrote  to  Darch,  the  old  solicitor  of  the  estate, 
asking  him  to  call  upon  business,  that  person  replied  resenting 
Allan's  preference  of  Major  Milroy  as  tenant  of  the  cottage, 
and  declining  further  service  as  solicitor.  The  remedy  seemed 
easy.  Allan  engaged  the  other  solicitor  of  the  place,  one  Ped- 
gift,  who,  with  his  son,  Pedgift  junior,  stood  next  in  rank. 

On  his  earliest  morning  walk,  Allan  encountered,  in  his 
park.  Miss  Eleanor  Milroy,  the  Major's  daughter,  better  known 
as  Neelie.  She  was  sixteen,  fresh,  unsophisticated,  a  born 
flirt  and  pretty,  and,  in  Allan's  unaccustomed  eyes,  altogether 
charming.  He  made  love  to  her  from  the  beginning,  and  went 
home  with  her  to  breakfast,  where  he  made  acquaintance  with 
her  father  and  saw  a  wonderful  clock  the  old  gentleman  was  con- 
structing on  the  model  of  the  famous  clock  at  Strasburg.  The 
acquaintance  ripened  rapidly,  and,  by  way  of  hurrying  it, 
Allan  arranged  a  picnic  party  on  those  strange  Norfolk  ponds 
known  as  the  Broads.  The  company  was  to  be  small,  because 
Allan's  neighbors  were  all  antagonistic  to  him  for  having 
disappointed  them  of  their  show. 

In  the  mean  while  Major  Milroy  had  advertised  for  a  govern- 
ess for  his  daughter,  Neelie,  and  Miss  Gwilt  had  responded. 
Miss  Gwilt  was  the  same  Lydia  who  had  aided  Allan's  mother  in 


^o  ARMADALE 

deceiving  her  father  at  the  time  of  her  marriage,  the  woman  who 
had  blackmailed  his  mother  before  her  death,  the  woman 
who  had  threatened  to  reveal  herself  to  him,  and  the  woman 
against  whom  his  mother  had  so  passionately  warned  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Brock  to  guard  her  son. 

This  person  possessed  a  strangely  fascinating  beauty.  She 
knew  every  art  by  which  women  captivate  men  and,  after  a  career 
of  crime,  she  was  as  unscrupulous  as  it  is  possible  for  a  woman 

to  be. 

It  was  her  i)lan,  highly  educated  and  accomplished  as  she 
was,  to  secure  the  appointment  as  Neelie's  governess,  to  cap- 
tivate Armadale,  and  make  herself  mistress  of  Thorpe-Ambrose. 
She  was  thirty-five  years  old,  but  could  pass  herself  off  as  twenty- 
seven,  and  for  the  rest  she  counted  upon  the  disposition  of 
very  young  men  to  fall  in  love  with  women  older  than  them- 
selves. 

In  order  to  carry  out  her  scheme  she  entered  into  a  partner- 
ship with  a  Mrs.  Oldershaw,  a  "beauty  doctor,"  who,  in  com- 
pany with  Dr.  Downwald,  conducted  an  establishment  for  the 
crimmal  malpractice  of  medicine  and  surgery.  Mrs.  Older- 
shaw advanced  the  necessary  money  upon  Lydia  Gwilt's  notes, 
and  it  was  agreed  that  she  should  share  in  the  profits  of  the  ven- 
ture if  it  should  prove  successful.  As  references  were  necessary, 
the  Oldershaw  woman  took  temporary  lodgings  in  a  respectable 
quarter,  adopted  a  false  name,  posed  as  a  gentlewoman,  and 
answered  inquiries  concerning  Lydia  Gwilt. 

Almost  immediately  after  Lydia's  advent  at  Thorpe-Am- 
brose as  Neelie's  governess,  Allan  fell  in  love  with  her,  forgetting 
the  affection  he  had  felt  for  Neelie.  Neelie  became  madly 
jealous,  of  course,  and  Major  Milroy's  bedridden  wife  was  still 
more  insanely  jealous  lest  the  governess  should  supplant  her  in 
her  husband's  affections.  Midwinter  also  had  fallen  in  love 
with  Miss  Gwilt,  whose  practice  it  was  to  bring  to  her  feet  every 
man  with  whom  she  came  into  contact  while  preserving  an  ap- 
pearance of  modest  self-effacement.  In  the  list  of  her  new 
victims  she  included  even  old  Bashwood,  a  false-toothed,  wig- 
wearing,  shambling,  nervous  wreck,  who  had  been  engaged  as  an 
assistant  steward  to  teach  Midwinter  a  business  of  which  he  knew 
next  to  nothing.    Miss  Gwilt  thought  she  might  have  occasion  to 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  41 

use  Bash  wood,  and  so  she  took  pains  to  attach  him  to  her  service 
by  so  much  of  encouragement  to  his  passion  as  was  necessary. 

Midwinter's  superstition  had  discovered  certain  fulfilments 
of  Allan's  dream,  and  his  soul  was  agitated  by  the  conviction 
that  he  was  destined  by  malign  fate  to  work  mischief  to  Allan 
Armadale,  the  man  he  loved  best  in  all  the  world,  and  the  man 
whose  father  his  own  father  had  murdered,  as  he  knew  from 
his  father's  confession,  of  which  the  other  Allan  knew  nothing. 

The  Rev.  Decimus  Brock,  being  in  London  some  time 
before  this,  encountered  Miss  Gwilt,  veiled  as  usual,  and  recog- 
nized her  by  dress  and  figure  as  the  woman  who  had  visited  Ar- 
madale's mother  to  blackmail  her.  For  Allan's  sake,  he  fol- 
lowed her  home  and  set  h'mself  to  watch  her  from  the  opposite 
house.  She  discovered  his  purpose  and  baffled  it  in  her  clever 
way.  She  dressed  Mrs.  Oldershaw's  maid  in  her  own  gown, 
shawl,  and  veil  and  sent  her  out  to  be  watched,  with  instruc- 
tions to  show  her  face  repeatedly  at  the  window  on  her  return. 
The  maid  closely  resembled  Miss  Gwilt  in  figure  and  carriage, 
but  in  face  and  in  the  color  of  her  hair  she  was  wholly  unlike 
her.  Having  thus  misled  the  parson  into  the  belief  that  he  knew 
the  face  of  the  dangerous  woman.  Miss  Gwilt  sent  the  maid  to 
the  parson's  own  village,  there  to  live  as  "Miss  Gwilt"  and  to 
consult  the  parson  himself  about  her  sins.  Mr.  Brock  was 
thus  thrown  completely  off  his  guard,  and  Lydia  Gwilt  was  free 
to  prosecute  her  schemes  at  Thorpe-Ambrose. 

She  was  not  long  in  doing  so.  Allan  Armadale  was  com- 
pletely fascinated  with  her,  so  completely  that  when  she  evaded 
his  natural  questions  about  her  family  and  put  him  off  with  the 
statement  that  it  was  a  sad  and  saddening  story  she  must  pres- 
ently tell  him,  he  generously  accepted  the  evasion. 

When  he  revealed  to  Midwinter  his  half-engagement  to 
Miss  Gwilt,  Midwinter,  who  was  himself  almost  insanely  in 
love  with  the  woman,  packed  his  knapsack  and  set  off  on  a 
walking  tour,  meaning  to  conquer  his  passion  lest  he  should  do 
harm  to  his  friend. 

Finding  herself  really  supplanted  by  her  governess,  Neclie 
Milroy  became  more  than  ever  wildly  jealous  of  Miss  Gwilt, 
but  her  jealousy  was  slight  in  comparison  with  that  of  Major 
Milroy's  bedridden  wife.     The  latter  wrote  confidentially  to 


42  ARMADALE 

Armadale,  suggesting  all  sorts  of  possibilities  with  respect  to  Miss 
Gwilt,  and  telling  him  that  the  governess's  references  had  not 
been  investigated,  except  carelessly  by  Major  Milroy's  mother. 
She  gave  him  the  address  at  which  Mrs.  Oldershaw,  under  a 
false  name,  had  answered  the  inquiries,  and  urged  him  to  in- 
quire about  Miss  Gwilt  more  closely.  At  the  same  time  she  in- 
voked his  honor  as  a  gentleman  to  keep  secret  her  interposition  in 
ihe  affair. 

Armadale,  in  company  with  Pedgift  the  younger,  went  to 
London.  Not  finding  Mrs.  Oldershaw  at  the  address  given, 
Pedgift  managed  to  trace  her  to  the  "beauty  doctor's"  head- 
quarters, but  she  was  not  there.  A  little  further  inquiry  en- 
abled him  to  discover  the  character  of  that  establishment  and 
to  connect  Miss  Gwilt  with  it. 

Disgusted  and  sorely  distressed,  Allan  Armadale  decided  to 
remain  in  London  for  a  time.  He  wrote  to  Mrs.  Milroy,  simply 
telling  her  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  find  the  "  Mrs.  Mande- 
ville  "  who  had  been  Miss  Gwilt's  reference.  As  he  was  in  honor 
bound  not  to  inculpate  Mrs.  Milroy,  that  gentlewoman  managed, 
by  aid  of  this  letter,  to  convince  her  husband  that  Allan  Arma- 
dale had  made  inquiries  with  regard  to  the  governess  with  an 
unsatisfactory  result.  The  Major's  sense  of  honor  was  touched. 
He  demanded  an  explanation,  and,  receiving  none,  denounced 
Allan  for  having  cast  a  slur  upon  the  character  of  a  young  wo- 
man and  then  failing  to  justify  it.  Pledged  to  secrecy  as  he  was 
with  regard  to  Mrs.  Milroy,  Allan  was  helpless  to  defend  him- 
self. Miss  Gwilt,  with  a  fine  assumption  of  offended  dignity, 
resigned  her  place,  but,  on  the  plea  that  she  courted  inquiry, 
took  humble  lodgings  in  the  village  to  await  events. 

The  public,  already  displeased  with  Armadale,  espoused 
her  cause,  and  Allan  was  everywhere  denounced,  even  in  the 
local  newspapers. 

In  response  to  a  summons  from  Pedgift  the  elder,  who 
wrote  him  of  the  facts,  he  returned  to  Thorpe-Ambrose  to  face 
the  storm. 

Pedgift,  who  had  been  trained  at  the  Old  Bailey  prison, 
thought  he  knew  what  manner  of  woman  Miss  Gwilt  was. 
He  urged  Armadale  to  let  him  bring  a  Scotland  Yard  detective 
down  to  look  at  her,  but,  with  his  quixotic  impulsiveness,  Arma- 


WILLIAM  WILKIE  COLLINS  43 

dale  refused.  Thereupon  Pedgift  threw  up  his  employment  as 
Allan's  solicitor,  and  Armadale  was  left  completely  isolated. 
The  community  was  hostile;  Midwinter  had  gone  away;  his 
solicitor  had  deserted  him;  Major  Milroy  had  forbidden  him 
his  house,  and  there  was  nobody  to  advise  him. 

Although  he  had  rejected  Pedgift's  suggestion  to  bring  a 
Scotland  Yard  man  to  look  at  Miss  Gwilt,  Allan  engaged  a  man 
to  watch  her.  He  had  meantime  secretly  met  Neelie  Milroy 
and — freed  as  he  was  by  this  time  from  his  passion  for  Miss 
Gwilt — he  had  reestablished  relations  with  the  younger  woman, 
who  loved  him  and  whom  he  really  loved. 

As  Midwinter  was  returning  home,  after  a  fortnight  or  so  of 
tramping,  he  met  Miss  Gwilt.  She  pointed  out  the  spy,  who 
was  following  her,  and  Midwinter  drove  him  away.  Then, 
finding  that  Allan  was  no  longer  his  rival,  Midwinter  made 
fierce  love  to  Miss  Gwilt.  She  in  her  turn  was  almost  in  love 
with  him — as  nearly  so  as  a  woman  of  her  character  and  history 
could  be. 

Having  heard  her  story  of  persecution,  Midwinter  made  him- 
self her  champion.  He  went  to  Armadale  to  protest.  The 
two  quarreled  and  separated,  but  Allan  dismissed  his  spy. 

Having  failed  in  her  scheme  to  marry  Allan  and  make  her- 
self mistress  of  Thorpe-Ambrose,  Lydia  Gwilt  set  about 
another  enterprise,  still  more  daring,  still  more  criminal.  By 
the  terms  of  Allan  Armadale's  tenure,  the  sum  of  twelve  hundred 
pounds  a  year  must  be  paid  to  his  widow,  if  he  should  die  leav- 
ing a  widow. 

Lydia  Gwilt  had  failed  in  her  effort  to  marry  him,  but 
she  decided  nevertheless  to  be  his  widow.  She  had  drawn  from 
Midwinter  the  fact  that  his  real  name  was  identical  with  that 
of  his  friend.  She  decided  to  marry  Midwinter  under  his 
true  name,  to  kill  Armadale,  then  to  repudiate  Midwinter,  and 
to  pose  as  the  widow  of  Allan  Armadale,  entitled  to  twelve 
hundred  pounds  a  year  from  the  estate.  The  only  thing  that 
stood  in  her  way  was  her  real  tenderness  for  Midwinter,  and 
the  longing  it  awakened  in  her  to  marry  him  and  settle  down  to  a 
life  of  happy  respectability.     But  she  put  the  temptation  by. 

Though  forbidden  Major  Milroy's  house,  Allan  met  the 
major's  daughter  daily  in  the  shrubbery,  and  the  two  planned 


44  ARMADALE 

an  elopement.  Miss  Gwilt,  in  hiding,  heard  all  their  arrange- 
ments. In  their  ignorance  of  legal  requirements  respecting 
marriage,  they  decided  that  Allan  should  go  to  London  to 
consult  a  solicitor,  he  having  quarreled  with  both  the  solicitors 
at  Thorpe-Ambrose.  Lydia  managed  to  meet  him  conspicuous- 
ly on  the  railway  platform,  and,  by  an  appeal  to  his  chivalry,  to 
compel  him  to  escort  her  to  London  in  an  otherwise  unoccupied 
carriage.  This,  as  Lydia  intended,  set  wagging  all  the  tongues 
of  all  the  gossips  of  Thorpe- Ambrose.  It  was  given  out  that 
Allan  Armadale  and  Lydia  Gwilt  had  eloped,  and  that 
they  would  marry  after  the  necessary  two  weeks'  residence  in 
London. 

Old  Bashford  heard  this  report,  and,  crazed  as  he  was  by 
his  absurd  passion  for  the  woman,  he  followed  the  pair  to 
London.  He  knew  nothing  of  Lydia's  purpose  to  marry 
Midwinter.  He  believed  she  intended  to  marry  Armadale,  and 
his  energies  were  directed  to  the  prevention  of  that  by  any 
means,  however  desperate.  He  employed  his  son,  a  detective, 
to  discover  Miss  Gwilt's  past,  with  the  following  result: 

Lydia  Gwilt  had  first  appeared  twenty-five  years  before, 
at  a  fair  at  Thorpe-Ambrose.  A  quack  named  Oldershaw 
exhibited  her  as  a  living  example  of  what  his  lotions  would  do 
for  hair  and  complexion.  Miss  Blanchard  of  Thorpe-Ambrose 
— afterwards  Allan  Armadale's  mother — became  interested  in  the 
child.  She  took  her  in  charge,  educated  her,  and  took  her  with 
her  to  Madeira.  There  the  girl  forged  letters  for  her  mistress, 
as  already  related.  As  she  possessed  knowledge  of  a  painful 
family  secret,  the  girl  was  sent  to  the  Continent  to  be  educated, 
a  liberal  allowance  being  made  by  the  Blanchards,  though 
secretly,  till  such  time  as  she  might  marry. 

She  became  an  adventuress,  married,  murdered  her  husband, 
was  convicted  and  sentenced  to  death,  but,  by  clemency  of  the 
crown,  escaped  with  a  period  of  penal  servitude  for  a  theft  she 
had  committed. 

OldBashwood's  infatuation  was  rather  intensified  than  cured 
by  the  revelation  of  the  woman's  crimes.  Still  believing  that 
she  was  about  to  marry  Armadale,  he  welcomed  the  revelation 
of  her  past  life  as  a  means  of  alienating  his  rival  and  perhaps 
of  securing  the  woman  for  himself.     He  went  to  Armadale's 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  45 

hotel,  meaning  to  tell  him  the  terrible  story,  but  Armadale  had 
gone  to  Somersetshire  to  the  death-bed  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brock; 
and  while  Bashwood  was  seeking  him  Midwinter  and  Lydia 
were  married  and  set  out  for  the  Continent. 

Some  time  before  this  Lydia  had  sent  an  anonymous  letter 
to  Major  Milroy  telling  him  of  his  daughter's  plan  to  elope  with 
Armadale.  Neelie  had  confessed  the  truth  of  this  accusation, 
but,  as  she  refused  to  give  up  her  lover,  the  Major  had  agreed 
that  she  should  be  sent  to  school  for  a  year  or  so;  that  Armadale 
and  she  should  hold  no  communication  with  each  other 
during  that  time;  but  that  if  at  the  end  of  that  period  he  found 
himself  satisfied  with  Armadale's  conduct,  the  marriage  should 
take  place. 

Midwinter  had  secured  an  engagement  as  a  newspaper 
correspondent,  and  was  to  be  stationed  at  Naples.  As  Armadale 
had  to  occupy  himself  somehow  during  the  year's  probation,  it 
was  arranged  that  he  should  sail  in  his  yacht  and  join  the  Mid- 
winters in  Italy.  Lydia  cherished  a  hope  that  the  little  ship 
would  drown  him.  It  would  spare  her  the  trouble  of  killing 
him  and  still  leave  her  free  to  abandon  Midwinter  and  set  up 
her  claim  as  Armadale's  widow.  The  yacht  was  in  fact  wrecked, 
but  Armadale  escaped,  and  at  Naples  he  hired  an  old  yacht 
of  English  build.  Whiile  he  was  looking  for  a  sailing-master 
and  crew,  Lydia  encountered  one  of  her  own  old  desperado 
lovers,  a  man  who  hesitated  at  nothing,  and  instigated  him  to  seek 
the  place  of  sailing-master.  She  told  him,  truly,  that  Armadale 
would  have  a  very  large  sum  of  money  in  gold  on  board.  With 
a  cutthroat  for  sailing-master  and  a  band  of  cutthroats  for  crew, 
Allan  sailed  away. 

A  great  storm  arose.  The  ship  weathered  it  well,  but  the 
crew  scuttled  her,  after  littering  the  sea  with  wreckage  and 
nailing  Allan  below  decks. 

The  news  came  that  the  yacht  was  wrecked  with  all  on 
board,  including  Allan  Armadale.  Immediately  Lydia  set  out 
for  London,  upon  the  plea  of  illness  and  distress  in  her  purely 
mythical  "family."  She  left  Midwinter  in  Italy  with  real  re- 
luctance. She  had  come  to  love  him  as  well  as  so  depraved  an 
adventuress  could  love.  But  her  love  and  pity  worked  no 
change  in  her  determination  to  cast  him  off,  claim  to  be  the 


46  ARMADALE 

widow  of  Allan  Armadale,  and  secure  the  income  of  twelve 
hundred  pounds  a  year. 

In  London  she  found  the  rascal  Dr.  Downward,  now  po- 
sing under  the  French  name  of  another  quack  whose  diploma 
he  had  bought.  Downward  was  just  ready  to  open  a  sanita- 
rium, in  which  there  were  no  patients  as  yet.  He  cheerfully 
perjured  himself  for  a  consideration,  swearing  that  he  had  been 
present  at  the  marriage  of  Lydia  Gwilt  and  Allan  Armadale, 
and  identifying  the  two.  Armed  with  his  affidavit  and  her  own 
marriage  certificate,  and  clad  in  widow's  weeds,  Lydia  presented 
her  claim. 

While  the  lawyers  were  considering  it  and  postponing  its 
settlement  a  letter  arrived  from  Allan  Armadale  himself.  By 
aid  of  the  one  decent  man  in  his  crew,  he  had  escaped  from  the 
wreck,  and  after  long  exposure  was  picked  up  and  carried  to  a 
remote  port.  He  was  ill,  but  recovering,  and  upon  recovery 
would  hasten  to  London. 

Meanwhile  Midwinter  had  come  to  London;  Lydia  had 
callously  repudiated  him,  declaring  herself  not  his  wife,  but  the 
widow  of  Allan  Armadale. 

Now  that  Allan  had  escaped  and  was  returning  to  London, 
Lydia  arranged  with  the  quack  doctor  to  lure  him  to  the  sanita- 
rium and  there  provide  her  with  means  of  secretly  putting  him  to 
death.  He  was  to  be  met  at  the  station  and  told  that  Neelie 
was  in  the  sanitarium  but  too  ill  to  see  him  until  the  next  day. 
One  night  thus  gained  would  be  sufficient  for  the  murderous 
purpose. 

Midwinter  also  was  awaiting  Armadale  at  the  railway 
station,  and  when  Allan  insisted  upon  going  to  the  sanitarium 
Midwinter  went  with  him. 

Allan  was  assigned  to  Room  No.  4,  Midwinter  to  Room 
No.  3.  There  was  an  apparatus  in  the  corridor  for  the  gen- 
eration of  carbon  dioxid.  It  communicated  with  Room  4 
only.  Lydia  was  instructed  to  pour  six  successive  measures  of  a 
fluid  into  the  apparatus  at  intervals  of  five  minutes.  This  would 
fill  the  room  with  an  odorless,  tasteless,  and  otherwise  un- 
discoverable  gas,  which  would  produce  sleep  first  and  then 
death. 

In  his  superstitious  fear  of  his  destiny  to  do  harm  to  his  friend 


WILLIAM   WILKIE  COLLINS  47 

Midwinter  insisted  upon  making  an  exchange  of  rooms,  he 
taking  No.  4  and  Allan  sleeping  in  No.  3. 

Knowing  nothing  of  this  change,  Lydia  proceeded  to  execute 
her  murderous  purpose.  After  she  had  poured  all  but  one  of  the 
measures  of  fluid  into  the  apparatus,  she  opened  the  door  of 
No.  4  to  look  upon  her  work.  She  found  her  victim  lying 
senseless  on  the  floor,  but  to  her  horror  it  was  not  Armadale 
but  Midwinter.  With  a  still  lingering  love  for  him,  she  hurried- 
ly dragged  him  into  the  corridor,  closing  after  her  the  door 
of  the  fatal  room.  Opening  windows,  she  succeeded  in  reviving 
him,  but  before  he  became  fully  conscious  a  mood  of  despera- 
tion overcame  her.  She  hurriedly  poured  the  remaining 
fluid  into  the  apparatus,  entered  the  room  and  locked  herself  in. 

The  doctors  next  day  found  upon  post-mortem  examination 
that  she  had  died  of  apoplexy. 

Midwinter  had  fully  won  his  place  as  a  writer  with  a  career 
before  him. 

In  the  spring  Allan  and  Neelie  were  married  and  took  up 
their  residence  permanently  at  Thorpe-Ambrose. 


MAN  AND  WIFE  (1870) 

Wilkie  Collins's  success  as  a  novelist  rested  mainly  upon  his  extraordinary 
power  of  complex  construction;  but  in  nearly  all  his  novels  he  had  an  ear- 
nest purpose  to  serve,  a  thesis  to  maintain,  a  sermon  to  preach.  In  Man  and 
Wife  he  had  two  such  purposes:  first  to  assail  the  iniquity  of  English,  Irish, 
and  Scotch  marriage  laws,  and  secondly  to  show  forth  what  he  regarded  as 
the  brutalizing  tendencies  of  athletics. '  The  novel  made  a  great  impression 
when  it  appeared.  It  was  dramatized  in  a  powerful  play,  in  which  the 
distinguished  American  actress,  Clara  Morris,  achieved  one  of  her  most  con- 
spicuous triumphs. 

Prologue 

N  1 83 1  two  young  women  parted,  vowing  eternal 
devotion  to  each  other. 

Blanche  was  on  her  way  to  India  as  a  govern- 
ess. Anne  was  presently  going  to  Milan  to  pre- 
pare herself  for  a  career  as  a  singer. 

Twenty-four  years  later  Anne  was  the  wife 
of  a  wealthy  man  named  Vanborough  and  the 
mother  of  a  girl,  Anne,  about  twelve  years  old. 
She  also  had  under  her  charge  a  little  girl  of 
five,  the  daughter  of  her  friend  Blanche,  and  bearing  the  same 
name.  Blanche  had  late  in  life  married  the  famous  Sir  Thomas 
Lundie,  and  this  was  their  child  sent  to  England  in  advance  of 
their  own  arrival. 

Vanborough  had  tired  of  his  wife.  She  was  beautiful, 
accomplished,  and  in  all  respects  charming,  but  she  had  no 
gift  to  aid  him  in  his  ambitions. 

Vanborough  wanted  to  be  rid  of  her  and  to  marry  the 
brilliant  Lady  Jane  Parnell.  He  was  courting  Lady  Jane  in 
the  guise  of  an  unmarried  man.  Through  her  he  hoped  to 
achieve  a  parliamentary  career  with  a  peerage  at  the  end  of  it. 
A  brilliant  young  lawyer,  Goeffrey  Delamayn,  was  employed 
to  find  a  way  out,  and,  albeit  reluctantly,  he  found  it. 

The  pair  had  been  married  in  Ireland,  the  one  being  a 
Catholic  and  the  other  having  been  a  Protestant  until  just 

48 


WILLIAM   WIKLIE   COLLINS  49 

before  the  marriage.  Under  the  marriage  laws  enacted  in 
England  for  the  governance  of  Ireland,  such  a  marriage  was 
void,  and  the  priest  who  celebrated  it  was  a  criminal  for  having 
done  so. 

Taking  advantage  of  the  law,  Vanborough  discarded  his 
wife,  thus  rendering  his  daughter  illegitimate,  and  married 
Lady  Jane.  The  abandoned  woman  and  her  child  took  the 
mother's  maiden  name,  Silvester,  and,  rejecting  the  financial 
provision  offered  by  \'anborough,  went  to  live  with  Lady 
Lundie — the  Blanche  of  the  early  friendship.  The  mother 
dying.  Lady  Lundie  pledged  herself  to  care  for  the  girl  Anne 
as  for  her  own  daughter. 

Vanborough  went  into  Parliament ;  but  his  success  there  was 
small,  and  in  his  disappointment  he  died  by  his  own  hand. 
Delamayn  had  a  brilliant  career  at  the  bar,  and  in  politics 
ending  by  becoming  Lord  Holchester  and  inheriting  a  great 
fortune.  He  had  two  sons,  Julius  and  Geoffrey.  Geoffrey  was 
at  the  University,  but  was  interested  solely  in  athletics.  Julius 
had  taken  his  degree,  married,  and  became  a  man  of  consequence. 

Anne  Silvester's  mother  had  dreaded  nothing  so  much  as 
that  her  daughter  might  be  lured  into  following  her  own  stage 
career,  for  which  her  beauty  and  her  gifts  would  be  capital 
enough.  Lady  Lundie  had  pledged  herself  to  make  of  the 
younger  Anne  a  governess,  earning  her  own  living.  In  fulfil- 
ment of  that  promise  Lady  Lundie  had  educated  the  girl  in 
every  conceivable  way,  and  then  had  made  her  governess  to 
her  own  daughter  Blanche,  seven  years  her  junior.  The  two 
were  like  sisters  in  affection. 

Lady  Lundie  set  out  for  India  again  with  her  husband. 
Her  health  being  frail,  she  was  anxious  about  her  daughter 
Blanche,  and,  in  the  conviction  that  Sir  Thomas  would  marry 
again  in  the  event  of  her  own  death,  she  exacted  of  Anne  a 
promise  to  be  a  protecting  sister  to  Blanche,  just  as  Anne's 
mother  had  exacted  a  promise  from  her,  which  she  had  fulfilled. 

Lady  Lundie  died  on  the  voyage.  A  year  later  Sir  Thomas 
married  again,  and  the  new  Lady  Lundie  respected  the  house- 
hold arrangements,  leaving  Anne  as  governess  and  elder  sis- 
ter to  Blanche,  being  nevertheless  jealous  of  Anne  and  antago- 
nistic to  Blanche. 

A.  D.,  VOL.  v.— 4 


qo  MAN  AND   WIFE 


The  Story 


A  few  months  later  Sir  Thomas  Lundic  died,  and  Lady 
Lundic  in  1868  reopened  the  Scottish  estate  of  Windygates, 
entertaining  a  briUiant  house  company  and  giving  a  lawn 
party.  While  a  game  of  croquet  was  in  progress  on  the  lawn, 
Geoffrey  Delamayn,  the  athlete  son  of  Lord  Holchester,  met 
Anne  Silvester  in  the  little  summer-house,  she  having  in  a  letter 
commanded  him  to  do  so.  There  was  an  angry  scene  between 
the  two.  Anne  Silvester  demanding  that  Geoffrey,  being  her 
husband  in  the  eyes  of  God,  should  save  her  from  disgrace  by 
immediately  making  himself  her  husband  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law  as  well.  The  brutal  young  athlete  sought  excuse,  but  the 
wronged  woman  insisted,  and  she  met  every  difficulty  he  put 
forth  with  a  plan  the  details  of  which  she  had  fully  wrought 
out  in  her  mind.  She  would  go  immediately  to  the  inn  at  Craig 
Fernie,  a  few  miles  away,  and  say,  by  way  of  securing  accommo- 
dations there,  that  her  husband  was  presently  to  join  her. 
Delamayn  was  to  present  himself  an  hour  or  two  later  and  ask 
for  his  wife.  They  were  to  remain  there  for  a  time  avowedly 
as  man  and  wife,  and  both,  in  a  vague  way,  knew  that  under 
Scottish  law  this  would  make  them  man  and  wife  in  fact. 

Anne  secretly  left  the  house  and  went  to  Craig  Fernie, 
leaving  behind  a  message  to  the  new  Lady  Lundie,  saying  that 
she  had  been  secretly  married  and  had  gone  to  join  her  husband. 

But  before  the  time  came  for  Geoffrey  Delamayn  to  fulfil 
his  part  of  the  programme,  he  received  a  message  from  his 
brother  Julius  to  the  effect  that  their  father.  Lord  Holchester, 
was  ill  unto  death  in  London,  Geoffrey  had  already  been  for- 
bidden Lord  Holchester's  house,  because  of  his  persistence  in 
following  athletics  instead  of  scholarship,  thereby  making  of 
himself  an  accomplished  brute,  rather  than  an  educated  man. 
Julius  urged  his  younger  brother  to  seize  this  opportunity  of 
possible  reinstatement  in  their  father's  favor.  He  asked 
Geoffrey  to  meet  him  and  go  with  him  to  London, 

But  Anne  was  waiting  for  him  at  Craig  Fernie,  and  in  his 
perplexity  Geoffrey  appealed  to  Arnold  Brinkworth.  Arnold 
was  a  young  man  of  gentle  birth  and  good  education  who  had 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  51 

gone  to  sea  in  default  of  other  means  of  support,  but  had  recently 
inherited  a  Scottish  estate,  which  he  was  that  day  to  visit,  in 
order  to  meet  his  tenants.  In  the  meanwhile  he  had  wooed 
and  won  Blanche  Lundie,  with  the  approval  of  Lady  Lundie, 
Blanche's  stepmother,  and  Sir  Patrick  Lundie,  a  shrewd, 
good-natured  old  Scottish  lawyer,  who,  since  Sir  Thomas's 
death,  had  been  recognized  as  the  head  of  the  Lundies. 

Geoffrey  Delamayn  had  once  saved  Arnold  Brmkworth's  life 
by  a  superb  feat  of  swimming.  He  called  now  for  repayment 
of  the  service.  He  asked  Brinkworth  to  go  in  his  stead  to  Craig 
Fernie,  and  bear  his  message  to  Anne.  Brinkworth  consented 
to  carry  a  note  from  Delamayn.  The  note  bade  the  wronged 
woman  wait  and  assured  her  of  Geoffrey's  early  coming 
and  acceptance  of  her  as  his  wife.  It  was  written  upon  the 
blank  page  of  Anne's  own  letter  demanding  the  justice  of 
marriage.  It  was  dated,  with  a  memorandum  of  the  hour,  and 
signed  by  Geoffrey  as  Anne's  "husband  soon  to  be." 

Bearing  this  note  Arnold  made  his  way  to  the  inn.  But  in 
order  to  reach  Anne  there  and  not  compromise  her  with  the 
inn  people,  he  must  ask  for  her,  not  by  any  name,  for  she  had 
given  none,  but  as  his  wife,  he  impersonating  Geoffrey  and 
thus  fulfilling  Anne's  assurance  to  the  inn  people  that  her 
husband  was  out  on  the  moors  and  would  presently  join  her. 
Without  knowing  much  about  Scottish  law,  Anne  knew  enough 
to  understand  that  the  situation  thus  created  was  a  compro- 
mising one  for  Arnold,  whose  engagement  to  her  dearest  friend 
on  earth,  Blanche,  she  would  on  no  account  put  in  peril.  But 
a  fearful  storm  arose,  and,  in  spite  of  all  considerations  of  pru- 
dence, Arnold  remained  overnight  in  one  of  the  two  rooms 
engaged.  Early  in  the  morning  he  left  for  his  estates,  but  mean- 
while Bishopriggs,  the  shrewdly  unscrupulous  head-waiter  of 
the  Inn,  who  had  once  been  discharged  from  Sir  Patrick 
Lundie's  office  for  purloining  papers,  secured  possession  of  the 
sheet  containing  Anne's  letter  to  Geoffrey  and  his  note,  promis- 
ing marriage,  in  reply. 

Geoffrey's  father  was  better  when  his  two  sons  reached 
London,  and  Geoffrey  was  quickly  hustled  out  of  the  house, 
lest  his  angry  father  should  learn  of  his  being  there.  Growing 
still  better,  Lord  Holchester  decided  to  give  Geoffrey  one  more 


52  MAN   AND   WIFE 

cliancc.  He  should  have  a  younger  son's  portion,  if,  before 
his  father's  death,  he  married  an  acceptable  gentlewoman. 
The  ^Yoman  selected  for  him  by  his  mother  and  his  sister-in-law, 
Mrs.  Julius  Delamayn,  was  a  very  rich  young  widow,  Mrs. 
Glenarm.  Mrs.  Julius  Delamayn  invited  that  charming  person 
to  be  her  guest  at  Swanhaven  Lodge,  near  Windygates,  and 
within  ten  days'  time  Geoflfrey,  chiefly  by  virtue  of  his  muscles 
and  his  overbearing  masterfulness,  had  secured  her  promise 
to  marry  him. 

He  had,  meanwhile,  entered  himself  as  the  champion  of 
the  South  in  the  longest  and  severest  foot-race  that  had  ever 
been  run  by  amateurs.  The  race  was  to  be  run  a  little  later, 
and  after  a  brief  time  Geoffrey  went  into  training  for  what  was 
regarded  as  the  greatest  athletic  event  of  the  century. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  brutal  fellow  had  decided  not  only 
to  abandon  Anne  Silvester,  but  deliberately  to  sacrifice  Arnold 
Brink  worth  as  a  convenient  means  of  doing  so.  His  dull 
mind  had  grasped  the  fact  that,  under  Scottish  law,  Arnold's 
act  in  representing  himself  at  the  inn  as  Anne's  husband 
might  be  construed  into  a  marriage.  He  assumed  that  position, 
and  in  an  interview  roughly  repudiated  Anne,  who  promptly  fled, 
Blanche,  whose  love  for  her  governess  was  boundless,  made 
every  effort  to  find  her,  but  in  vain.  Sir  Patrick  exhausted  his 
resources  in  that  behalf,  and  then,  by  way  of  diverting  Blanche's 
mind,  hastened  her  marriage  to  Arnold  Brinkworth. 

Anne  had  gone  to  Glasgow.  There  she  gave  birth  to  a  dead 
child.  Her  anxiety  to  protect  Arnold  and  Blanche  was  so  great 
that,  before  she  was  really  able  to  travel  with  safety,  she  visited 
Swanhaven  and  secured  an  interview  with  Geoffrey's  pros- 
pective wife,  which  served  only  to  bring  fresh  insult  upon  her. 
Geoffrey  now  openly  declared  that  Anne  had  made  herself 
Arnold's  wife  by  virtue  of  the  happenings  at  the  inn.  Through 
mistaken  kindness,  all  the  facts  of  the  case  were  kept  from 
Blanche's  knowledge,  and  her  marriage  with  Arnold  was 
hastened. 

Old  Bishopriggs  tried  to  trade  upon  the  letter  he  had  in 
his  possession.  Sir  Patrick  set  many  traps  for  him,  but  he  was 
too  wary  to  be  caught,  until  at  last  Anne  Silvester  found  him 
and  compelled  him  to  return  the  letter  to  her  for  a  consideration 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  53 

much  smaller  than  he  had  hoped  to  secure.  Her  only  desire 
was  to  protect  Arnold  and  Blanche  by  securing  possession  of 
a  document  that  might  be  used  to  harass  them.  Her  first 
thought  was  to  destroy  the  paper.  Fortunately  she  decided  to 
preserve  it  instead,  as  a  means  of  protecting  the  innocent  in 
case  of  need. 

Arnold  and  Blanche  were  married  and  spent  their  honey- 
moon on  the  Continent.  The  newspapers  got  hold  of  the  facts 
of  the  strange  case  and  made  them  public,  with  disguises  and 
reserves,  but  with  sufficient  definiteness  to  alarm  Sir  Patrick 
Lundie,  who  had  learned  from  Arnold  the  incident  of  the  inn. 
He  instandy  summoned  the  bridal  pair  back  to  England,  and 
set  to  work  to  adjust  matters  if  possible.  If  the  Craig  Fernie 
occurrence  had  in  reality  made  Arnold  Brinkworth  and  Anne 
Silvester  man  and  wife  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  then  Arnold's 
marriage  with  Blanche  was  bigamous.  Sir  Patrick  set  all  his 
legal  wits  at  work  to  find  what  could  be  done. 

Anne  had  sought  to  see  Geoffrey  in  order  to  save  Blanche's 
happiness,  and  had  succeeded  only  in  throwing  him  into  a  fit 
of  anger,  dangerous  to  him  in  his  training.  He  had  gone  into 
the  race  in  unfit  condition  and  had  lost  it  by  a  physical  collapse 
near  the  end. 

Meanwhile  Lady  Lundie,  Blanche's  stepmother,  had  by 
accident  learned  the  facts  of  the  situation.  She  went  to  London 
and  adroitly  managed  to  see  Blanche  alone  before  her  presence 
was  known.  She  shocked  and  horrified  Blanche  with  a  tale  that 
hinted  of  the  invalidity  of  her  marriage  with  Arnold.  Blanche 
refused  to  believe.  Lady  Lundie  placed  her  where  she  could 
hear  without  being  seen;  then  she  taxed  Arnold  with  the  story 
and  he  admitted  the  facts.  Having  heard  his  admission,  to 
which  he  had  not  attached  the  explanation,  Blanche  consented 
to  flee  with  Lady  Lundie  and  accept  her  protection. 

Lady  Lundie  brought  matters  to  a  crisis  by  sending  a  letter 
to  Sir  Patrick,  telling  him  what  she  had  done  and  claiming  the 
right  to  protect  her  stepdaughter  against  any  attempts  by  Sir 
Patrick  or  Arnold  to  see  her. 

The  situation  was  perplexing.  If  Sir  Patrick  should  assert 
his  rights  as  Blanche's  guardian,  he  must  contend  that  she 
was  not  married  to  Arnold,     If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  should 


54  MAN  AND   WIFE 

contend  that  her  marriage  was  valid,  then  his  rights  as  her 
guardian  had  ceased. 

Sir  Patrick  was  a  cool-headed,  shrewd,  diplomatic  person, 
and  by  the  exercise  of  all  his  ingenuity  and  persuasiveness  he 
managed  at  last  to  secure  a  private  hearing  of  the  case  in  Lady 
Lundie's  drawing-room,  with  everybody  present  who  was  in 
any  way  concerned.  Chief  among  these  was  Anne  Silvester, 
and  her  spirit  of  heroic  self-sacrifice  in  behalf  of  her  friend 
Blanche  filled  Sir  Patrick  with  admiration. 

Anne  had  once  wanted  Geoffrey  Delamayn  to  make  her 
his  wife  because  she  then  loved  him.  Later  she  had  wanted 
him  to  make  her  his  wife  for  the  sake  of  her  reputation.  Now 
she  abhorred  and  loathed  him,  but  she  was  more  than  ever 
determined  to  make  him  acknowledge  her  as  his  wife,  in  order 
that  there  might  be  no  possible  cloud  upon  Blanche's  life.  She 
fully  understood  the  power  the  British  law  authorizes  a  husband 
to  exercise  over  his  wife,  and  she  knew  with  what  brutality 
Geoffrey  Delamayn  would  exercise  that  power  if  forced  to  accept 
her  as  his  wife.  But  for  Blanche's  sake  she  was  ready  for  the 
sacrifice. 

At  the  informal  hearing  where  all  were  present,  including 
Geoffrey's  lawyers,  Sir  Patrick  sought  by  every  means  in  his 
power  to  secure  an  adjustment  without  accepting  Anne's 
sacrifice.  It  was  all  to  no  purpose;  Geoffrey  insisted  upon  it 
that  the  incidents  at  the  inn  had  made  Arnold  and  Anne  man 
and  wife.  He  denied  everything  else.  In  that  way  only  could 
he  leave  himself  free  to  marry  Mrs.  Glenarm  with  her  income 
of  ten  thousand  pounds  a  year. 

At  Sir  Patrick's  suggestion,  Arnold  made  a  frank  statement 
of  the  facts  as  to  the  meetmg  at  the  inn,  and  Anne  fully  con- 
firmed them.  Blanche  declared  her  belief  in  the  statement 
and  her  confidence  in  her  husband,  but  at  Lady  Lundie's 
suggestion  she  declined  to  make  the  reconciliation  complete 
until  it  should  be  conclusively  proved  that  the  events  had  not 
in  law  made  Arnold  Anne's  husband. 

Sir  Patrick  took  Anne  into  another  room,  and  pleaded  with 
her  to  take  back  the  letter  which,  if  used,  would  condemn  her 
to  submit  herself  to  Geoffrey  Delamayn  as  his  wife  and  as  an 
enemy,  helpless  in  his  brutal  hands.    So  great  was  his  pity  for 


WILLIAM  WILKIE   COLLINS  55 

her  and  his  admiration  for  her  heroism  that  he  stood  ready  to 
sacrifice  even  Blanche's  happiness  to  her  salvation.  Anne 
resolutely  insisted  that  the  letter  should  be  used,  and,  returning 
to  the  drawing-room,  Sir  Patrick  presented  it,  citing  a  decision 
of  the  courts  which  had  been  sustained  by  the  House  of  Lords, 
that  a  document  such  as  that  actually  and  unquestionably  con- 
stituted a  marriage  in  itself.  Geoffrey's  own  lawyers  declared, 
after  examining  the  paper,  that  at  the  time  when  Arnold 
Brinkworth  went  to  the  inn  in  behalf  of  Geoffrey  Delamayn, 
Geoffrey  Delamayn  and  Anne  Silvester  were  already  man 
and  wife. 

In  moody  anger  Geoffrey  accepted  the  decision.  He  re- 
minded Anne  that  but  for  her  he  might  have  made  friends  with 
his  father;  that  but  for  her  he  might  have  married  Mrs.  Glen- 
arm  and  possessed  himself  of  her  colossal  fortune ;  that  but  for 
her  he  would  have  crowned  his  athletic  career  by  winning  the 
foot-race.  In  brief,  his  utterance  was  a  threat  of  vengeance. 
He  called  a  cab  and  ordered  her  into  it.  Loathing  and  fearing 
him  as  she  did,  she  had  no  choice  but  to  obey.  She  was  his 
wife,  and  in  British  law  the  wife  is  subject  to  her  husband's 
commands. 

At  this  time  Geoffrey  was  living  in  a  secluded  house,  with 
a  walled-in  garden,  as  the  tenant  of  a  strange  woman,  Hester 
Dethridge.  Hester  had  been  cook  at  Windygates.  She  was 
dumb,  though  not  deaf.  She  heard  what  was  said  to  her,  and 
replied  either  by  signs  or  by  writing  on  a  slate  which  she  always 
carried  slung  to  her  belt. 

In  such  a  place  Anne  was  completely  a  prisoner;  Geoffrey 
kept  the  outer  gates  locked,  and  himself  carried  the  key.  He 
gave  Anne  her  choice  of  rooms,  and  while  moodily  seeming  to 
threaten  her,  took  pains  to  profess  penitence  and  to  seek  recon- 
ciliation. 

Hester's  history  had  been  peculiar.  Brought  up  in  devout 
piety  as  a  Primitive  Methodist,  she  had  married  against  the 
will  of  her  parents.  Her  husband,  a  paper-hanger,  had  proved 
to  be  a  drunkard.  He  had  squandered  her  savings,  and  when 
she  had  fled  from  him  to  earn  money  he  had  followed  and  used 
his  authority  under  the  marriage  laws  to  despoil  her.  She 
read  somewhere  an  account  of  how  women  in  her  situation 


56  MAN   AND   WIFE 

sometimes  killed  their  husbands  by  placing  a  wet  towel  over 
tlieir  mouilis  and  noses  while  they  lay  in  a  drunken  torpor. 
Employing  her  instead  of  a  journeyman  in  his  business,  her 
husband  had  taught  her  how  to  remove  paper  from  a  wall, 
repair  the  wall  beneath,  and  replace  the  paper  so  as  to  show 
no  sign  of  disturbance.  What  he  had  taught  her  she  practised. 
She  made  an  opening  of  that  kind  between  his  bedroom  and 
her  own.  Passing  her  hands  through  the  opening,  she  smothered 
him,  after  which  she  restored  the  wall  to  its  original  condition. 
He  was  found  dead  in  a  room  locked  within,  and  no  suspicion 
of  homicide  arose. 

From  that  hour  she  had  been  dumb  except  in  prayer. 
She  inherited  property,  including  the  house  in  which  Geoffrey 
Delamayn  was  now  living  as  her  lodger.  She  had  written  a 
confession  of  her  crime,  which  she  kept  always  in  her  bosom, 
so  that  it  might  be  buried  with  her  for  God  to  read  after  she 
was  dead. 

By  accident  Geoffrey  got  possession  of  the  confession  and 
read  it.  He  was  already  contemplating  the  murder  of  Anne 
and  trying  to  invent  a  plan  by  which  it  might  be  accomplished 
without  danger  of  subsequent  discovery.  Here  was  a  plan 
ready  to  his  hand.  He  compelled  Hester  to  instruct  him  and 
to  prepare  the  walls.  Having  possession  of  her  confession  he 
had  her  in  his  power. 

In  the  meanwhile  Sir  Patrick  Lundie  and  Blanche  were 
torn  with  apprehension  for  Anne's  safety,  and  were  planning 
her  rescue  by  fair  means  or  foul. 

By  arrangement  with  them  she  was  to  place  a  light  in  her 
window  as  a  signal  whene\'er  she  could  escape  to  the  rear 
garden  gate.  An  enforced  change  in  her  quarters  on  the  night 
before  had  aroused  her  suspicions  and  deprived  her  of  sleep. 
On  this  second  night  she  must  wait  for  some  hours  before 
Geoffrey  would  be  off  guard  and  she  free  to  set  the  signal-light. 
Exhausted,  she  lay  down  to  sleep  during  these  spare  hours. 
Suddenly  she  awoke  to  find  a  light  shining  through  a  hole 
that  had  been  been  made  in  the  wall,  and  through  that  hole 
she  saw  Geoffrey  lying  dead  of  a  paralytic  stroke  with  the  insane 
woman  bending  over  him. 

Anne  gave  the  alarm  and  was  promptly  joined  by  Sir  Patrick 


WILLIAM  WILKIE   COLLINS  57 

and  Arnold,  together  with  a  policeman  who  at  their  instigation 
had  forced  his  way  into  the  garden. 

Hester  Dethridge,  now  hopelessly  insane,  was  taken  to  an 
asylum.  Lady  Lundie  had  broken  off  all  relations  with  Sir 
Patrick,  Blanche,  and  Arnold. 

Some  months  later  she  unexpectedly  appeared  at  Hol- 
chester  House,  and  Julius,  now  Lord  Holchester,  informed 
her  that  Arnold  and  Blanche  were  expecting  an  heir  and  that 
Sir  Patrick  had  married  Anne  Silvester,  a  fact  which  made  of 
Anne  the  Lady  Lundie,  and  relegated  herself,  at  forty  years  of 
age,  to  the  nominal  place  of  dowager  Lady  Lundie.  Mrs. 
Glenarm  had  turned  Catholic  and  entered  a  convent. 


NO   NAME    (1862) 

Fxccnt  The  Wovmn  in  While,  none  of  Wilkie  Collins's  novels  was  more 
widely  popular  at  the  time  of  its  publication  than  No  Name,  though  the  great 
success  of  .l/<;;»  and  Wijr  in  its  dramatized  and  acted  form  has  since  given  that 
stor)-  a  greater  reputation  and  a  firmer  hold  upon  the  popular  mind. 

N  March,  1846,  at  Combe-Raven,  in  West 
Somersetshire,  lived  a  gentleman,  Andrew  Van- 
stone.  His  family  consisted  of  Mrs.  Vanstone, 
two  daughters,  and  Miss  Garth.  The  latter  had 
been  governess  to  the  two  girls,  and  smce  they 
had  outgrown  the  schoolroom  she  had  continued 
to  live  in  the  house  as  an  honored  and  beloved 
member  of  the  family. 

Andrew  Vanstone  was  a  man  of  ample  means, 
invested  in  the  funds.  He  led  the  easy  life  of  a  country  gentle- 
man with  no  great  landed  estate  to  look  after.  He  was  healthy, 
good-natured,  and  lovingly  devoted  to  his  family.  Norah,  the 
elder  daughter,  was  a  typically  well  brought  up  young  English- 
woman. Magdalen,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  was  vivacious,  intensely 
affectionate,  wilful,  a  mimic,  and  the  pet  of  the  family. 

Adjoining  the  Combe-Raven  grounds,  in  a  little  cottage, 
lived  Francis  Clare,  a  scholar  and  cynic,  who  condemned  all 
social  conventions,  and  whose  habit  it  was  to  speak  his  mind 
freely.  His  eldest  son,  Frank,  had  been  Magdalen's  playmate 
in  childhood  and  had  now  grown  to  be  her  sweetheart.  He 
was  altogether  worthless,  and  his  father  never  hesitated  to 
proclaim  the  fact,  while  Andrew  Vanstone  obstinately  disputed 
it.  Vanstone  had  secured  for  the  young  man  a  very  favorable 
place  with  an  engineer.  The  young  man's  father  had  wagered 
that  he  would  forfeit  the  admirable  opportunity  thus  offered, 
and  "  come  back  like  a  bad  shilling."  The  boy  did  so.  Then 
Vanstone  secured  for  him  a  place  in  a  commercial  house,  and 
agam  Frank  forfeited  the  trust. 

58 


WILLIAM  WILKIE   COLLINS  59 

In  some  private  theatricals  Magdalen  dragged  Frank 
through  his  part,  and,  herself  doubling  parts,  carried  off  all 
the  honors,  chiefly  by  her  adroit  mimicry  of  Miss  Garth  and 
Norah,  and  so  impressed  her  histrionic  gifts  upon  the  theatrical 
agent  who  managed  the  show  that  he  begged  her  to  accept 
and  keep  his  card,  in  case  she  should  have  occasion  to  recom- 
mend him. 

The  London  firm  in  whose  service  Frank  Clare  had  failed 
suggested  that  he  might  have  another  chance  if  he  would  go 
out  to  China  for  five  years  to  study  the  silk  and  tea  trade  and 
make  himself  valuable  in  the  correspondence  of  the  house. 
He  pleaded  piteously  to  be  spared  the  exile,  and  Magdalen 
pleaded  for  him.  Mr.  Vanstone  came  to  the  rescue.  He 
proposed  that  Frank  should  have  another  year's  trial  in  the 
London  house,  and  said  that  if  he  did  well  he  should  marry  Mag- 
dalen at  the  end  of  that  time.  Her  fortune  would  be  ample  for 
their  support. 

A  letter,  postmarked  New  Orleans,  came  one  morning  for 
Mr.  Vanstone,  Immediately,  and  with  some  mystery,  he  and 
his  wife  went  to  London,  to  be  gone  for  some  weeks.  In  a  letter 
Mrs.  Vanstone  explained  to  Miss  Garth  that  finding  herself, 
very  unexpectedly,  about  to  become  a  mother  again,  or  suspect- 
ing that  this  was  the  case,  she  had  gone  to  London  to  consult 
an  eminent  medical  man.  Miss  Garth  felt  that  there  was 
something  kept  back,  but  was  too  polite  to  make  any  inquiry. 

After  they  returned  to  Combe-Raven  Mr.  Vanstone  sum- 
moned his  solicitor,  Mr.  Pendril,  from  London,  and  while 
awaiting  him,  went  alone  on  a  brief  railway  journey.  There 
was  an  accident  and  Andrew  Vanstone  was  killed. 

Mrs.  Vanstone  fell  violently  ill.  Mr.  Pendril  went  to  Clare's 
cottage  and  thence  sent  urgent  word  that  if  Mrs.  Vanstone  were 
to  revive  sufficiently  to  sign  her  name,  it  was  of  the  utmost 
importance  that  he  should  see  her,  if  only  for  five  minutes; 
but  she  died  without  recovering  consciousness. 

Mr.  Pendril  then  explained  the  mystery  to  Miss  Garth. 
Mr.  Vanstone  had  been  an  officer  in  the  army  in  his  youth. 
He  had  been  stationed  in  Canada.  There  he  had  met  and 
married  a  woman  who  proved  to  be  an  adventuress.  When 
Vanstone  found  out  her  true  character,  he  pensioned  her  off. 


6o  NO   NAME 

Money  was  all  she  wanted,  and  he  gave  her  a  sufficient  income. 
But  she  remained  in  law  his  wife,  and  it  was  only  when  the 
letter  from  New  Orleans  brought  news  of  her  death  that 
Andrew  \'anstone  and  the  mother  of  his  daughters  could  be 
legally  married.  It  was  for  the  purpose  of  accomplishing  this 
without  publicity  that  the  two  had  gone  to  London. 

Years  before  that  time  Vanstone  had  made  his  will, 
giving  his  fortune  of  eighty  thousand  pounds  to  his  wife  and 
daughters.  His  subsequent  marriage  to  his  wife  had  rendered 
this  will  invalid,  and,  discovering  the  fact,  he  had  sent  for  Mr. 
Pendril  to  draw  another.  The  solicitor  had  arrived  too  late. 
The  law  of  England,  unlike  that  of  other  civilized  countries, 
does  not  permit  the  belated  marriage  of  parents  to  legitimize 
children  already  born.  Consequently,  at  law,  Norah  and 
Magdalen  were  "nobody's  children,"  and  every  penny  of 
Vanstonc's  wealth  became  the  property  of  his  elder  brother, 
Michael  Vanstone,  from  whom  he  had  been  bitterly  estranged 
ever  since  their  father's  death.  Mr.  Pendril  had  hoped  that 
Mrs.  Vanstone  might  sign  a  will  giving  her  wife's  portion  to 
her  daughters,  but  she  had  died  too  soon. 

Appeal  was  made  in  vain  to  Michael  Vanstone.  He  declined 
to  recognize  his  brother's  daughters.  He  contemptuously 
offered  to  give  them  one  hundred  pounds  apiece  to  cover 
their  expenses  while  seeking  situations,  but  he  would  do  no 
more. 

Now  that  Magdalen  had  no  fortune  and  no  hope  of  one,  it 
became  necessary  for  Frank  Clare  to  accept  the  offer  made  him 
and  go  out  to  China.    Whining  and  whimpering,  he  went. 

Both  girls  rejected  Michael  Vanstone's  offer  of  one  hundred 
pounds  apiece.  Norah  decided  to  seek  a  situation  as  governess. 
Magdalen  suddenly  disappeared.  Miss  Garth  and  Norah, 
believing  that  she  had  gone  to  seek  employment  on  the  stage, 
asked  Mr.  Pendril  to  institute  a  search  for  her.  He  issued 
handbills,  describing  her  and  offering  a  reward  of  fifty  pounds 
for  her  discovery.  One  of  these  fell  into  the  hands  of  Captain 
Horatio  Wragge,  a  wholly  conscienceless  adventurer  and 
swindler,  remotely  connected  with  the  late  Mrs.  Vanstone's 
family.  He  found  Magdalen,  but  upon  a  careful  calculation 
of  chances  he  decided  that  he  could  make  more  out  of  her  in  a 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  6i 

dramatic  way  than  by  reporting  her  whereabouts  and  collecting 
the  reward  of  fifty  pounds. 

He  took  her  to  live  with  his  half-imbecile  wife.  He  trained 
her  and  devised  for  her  a  monologue  entertainment.  The  thing 
succeeded;  Captain  Wragge  deliberately  swindling  Magdalen 
in  their  accounts,  but  still  leaving  her  an  income  from  which 
she  soon  saved  a  comfortable  sum. 

With  money  in  hand,  JMagdalen  abandoned  the  stage  and 
set  to  work  to  carry  out  her  scheme,  endeavoring  to  recover 
in  one  way  or  another  the  eighty  thousand  pounds  of  her  father's 
fortune. 

She  employed  Wragge  to  find  out  facts.  He  learned  that 
Michael  Vanstone  was  dead,  and  that  his  wealth  had  passed 
to  a  half-imbecile,  miserly,  and  utterly  cowardly  son,  Noel. 

Disguised  to  resemble  her  old  governess,  Miss  Garth, 
Magdalen  secured  access  to  Noel  Vanstone,  but  could  make 
no  impression  upon  him.  He  was  completely  under  the  control 
of  his  housekeeper,  J\Irs.  Lecount,  and  Mrs.  Lecount  so  far 
penetrated  Magdalen's  disguise  as  to  suspect  the  truth.  She 
managed  to  cut  a  fragment  from  an  under  flounce  of  the  dress 
Magdalen  wore,  and  she  preserved  the  piece  for  future  use. 
In  due  time  she  wrote  to  Miss  Garth  and  learned  that  that 
lady  had  not  only  not  visited  Noel  Vanstone,  but  had  not  at 
any  time  been  in  the  quarter  of  London  where  the  visit  had 
taken  place.  In  brief,  Miss  Garth  and  Norah,  from  beginning 
to  end,  quite  unintentionally  served  Magdalen's  wiliest  enemy, 
Mrs.  Lecount,  and  furnished  her  with  precisely  the  information 
she  needed  in  order  to  baffle  Magdalen's  schemes. 

During  all  this  time  Magdalen's  love  for  Frank  Clare  had 
sustained  her  courage  and  restrained  her  from  extreme  meas- 
urcj.  Now  came  a  letter  from  Frank,  written  at  Shanghai. 
In  it  he  told  Magdalen  that  his  self-respect  had  been  affronted 
by  the  firm  in  whose  employ  he  had  been  sent  out,  and  that  he 
had  resigned  his  place.  He  reproached  his  father  and  Mag- 
dalen for  having  sent  him  out  of  England,  declared  himself  an 
outcast,  and  coolly  repudiated  his  marriage  engagement,  with- 
out a  suggestion  of  consideration  for  the  woman  involved. 
He  did  not  even  give  her  an  address  to  which  she  might  send 
expressions  of  sympathy  or  of  reproach.    His  letter  was  selfish. 


62  NO  NAME 

brutal,  cowardly,  and  it  broke  down  whatever  remained  of 
restraint  on  Magdalen's  part.  Without  revealing  her  where- 
abouts or  her  puri)oses,  she  exchanged  letters  occasionally  with 
Miss  Garth  and  with  Norah,  who  had  found  a  place  as  govern- 
ess in  the  house  of  the  Tyrrells,  friends  of  her  family. 

Now  that  Frank  Clare  had  repudiated  her,  Magdalen  had 
no  restraint  upon  her  mad  impulse  to  seek  remedial  justice 
by  any  and  every  means  in  her  power.  She  decided  to  use 
to  the  full  the  conscienceless  ingenuity  and  assurance  of  the 
adventurer  Wragge.  He  learned  that  Noel  Vanstone,  with 
his  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Lecount,  had  removed  to  Sea  View 
Cottage,  at  Aldborough,  for  the  summer.  Captain  Wragge, 
assuming  the  name  of  Bygrave,  at  once  took  a  house  a  few 
doors  away,  called  North  Shingles.  With  ample  supplies  of 
money,  the  proceeds  of  Magdalen's  dramatic  venture,  he  posed 
there  as  a  gentleman  of  leisure,  with  an  invalid  wife  and  his 
niece,  ]\Iiss  Bygrave — Magdalen,  in  fact. 

Then  Magdalen  opened  her  mind  to  him.  She  had  deter- 
mined to  marry  Noel  Vanstone.  She  instructed  Wragge  to 
open  the  way  to  an  acquaintance,  telling  him  what  her  purpose 
was  and  promising  to  give  him  two  hundred  pounds  as  soon  as 
the  marriage  ceremony  should  be  over,  upon  the  receipt  of 
which  he  was  to  take  himself  out  of  her  life.  In  answer  to  his 
questions  as  to  settlements — questions  prompted  by  what  he 
knew  of  the  miserly  character  of  Noel  Vanstone — she  bade  him 
waive  the  question  of  settlements  altogether.  If  once  she 
could  make  herself  Noel  Vanstone's  wife,  she  trusted  her  own 
ingenuity  to  compel  that  disposition  of  his  property  upon  which 
she  was  bent — namely,  the  restoration  to  her  sister  and  herself 
of  the  eighty  thousand  pounds  taken  from  her  father. 

On  her  first  arrival  at  Aldborough,  Magdalen  encountered 
a  young  sea-captain,  one  Kirke.  They  did  not  speak,  but 
Kirke's  admiration  for  her  beauty  was  so  great  that  his  stare 
offended  her;  and  when,  a  little  later,  he  sailed  for  China, 
he  confessed  to  his  sister  that  Magdalen,  whom  he  knew  only 
as  Miss  Bygrave,  was  the  one  woman  in  the  world  whom  he 
could  love. 

Mrs.  Lecount  was  not  long  in  suspecting  Magdalen's  pur- 
pose to  marry  Noel  Vanstone,  who  was  deeply  smitten  with 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  63 

her.  The  wily  housekeeper  placed  all  manner  of  obstacles  in 
the  way.  She  believed  Magdalen  to  be  the  woman  who  had 
masqueraded  as  Miss  Garth,  but  as  yet  she  had  no  proof. 
Noel  Vanstone,  in  his  weak,  irresolute  way,  resented  Mrs. 
Lecount's  interference,  though  he  could  not  shake  off  her 
dominant  influence.  Captain  Wragge  schemed  even  more 
deeply  than  she.  He  sent  his  wife  and  Magdalen  away  for  a 
time.  Then  he  induced  Noel  Vanstone  to  join  him  in  a  con- 
spiracy. 

Mrs.  Lecount  had  a  brother  in  Zurich  who  had  been  ill, 
but  was  recovering.  He  had  property,  and  there  were  other 
relatives  about  him  who  might  influence  his  will  to  Mrs. 
Lecount's  disadvantage.  With  Noel  Vanstone's  assistance, 
Captain  Wragge  forged  a  letter  from  the  Zurich  physician 
telling  Mrs.  Lecount  that  her  brother  had  suffered  a  relapse, 
and  summoning  her  hurriedly  to  Switzerland.  This  letter  the 
wily  captain  sent  to  a  trusted  agent  to  be  posted  in  Zurich. 
Then,  just  before  the  time  when  it  should  be  received  at  Aid- 
borough,  he  had  Noel  Vanstone  leave  on  a  visit  to  Admiral 
Bartram,  a  relative,  at  St.  Crux,  without  so  much  as  calling 
on  the  Bygraves. 

Mrs.  Lecount  remained  behind,  ostensibly  to  pack  up  her 
master's  belongings,  but  really  to  make  her  way  into  the  Bygrave 
cottage  and  secure  evidence  in  confirmation  of  her  suspicions. 
Playing  upon  the  intellectual  helplessness  of  the  half-witted 
Mrs.  Wragge,  she  succeeded.  She  even  secured  access  to 
Magdalen's  wardrobe  and  found  there  the  dress  in  which 
Magdalen  had  masqueraded  as  Miss  Garth,  and  from  which 
she  had  cut  a  telltale  fragment. 

Just  then  came  the  letter  from  Zurich  urging  Mrs.  Lecount 
to  hasten  to  her  dying  brother's  bedside. 

For  lack  of  time  to  go  to  St.  Crux  and  lay  her  discoveries 
before  Noel  Vanstone,  she  wrote  him  a  letter  addressed  to  St. 
Crux,  warning  him  of  the  conspiracy  against  him  and  promising 
to  bring  convincing  proofs  on  her  return  from  Switzerland. 

It  was  the  concerted  scheme  of  Captain  Wragge  and  Noel 
Vanstone  that  the  proposed  marriage  should  take  place  during 
this  absence  of  Mrs.  Lecount.  Captain  Wragge  had  no  mind 
to  let  Noel  Vanstone  receive  any  letter  from  Mrs.  Lecount. 


64  NO   NAME 

He  hurried  to  St.  Crux  and  persuaded  Vanstone  to  start  with 
him  at  once  for  London,  to  secure  the  special  marriage  license 
necessary.  The  Captain,  furthermore,  left  at  St.  Crux  a  number 
of  envelops  addressed  to  himself  in  London,  with  instructions 
to  the  servants  at  St.  Crux  to  forward  in  them  any  letters  that 
might  come  for  Noel  Vanstone.  Thus  it  came  about  that  Mrs. 
Lecount's  letter  fell  into  the  hands  of  Captain  Wragge  instead 
of  being  read  by  Noel  Vanstone. 

As  the  wedding-day  approached,  Magdalen  began  to  shrink 
in  horror  and  loathing  from  the  execution  of  the  scheme  she 
had  so  laboriously  planned.  Suicide  seemed  the  only  alterna- 
tive. She  bought  a  vial  of  laudanum  and  wrote  a  farewell 
letter  to  Norah;  but  with  the  laudanum  at  her  very  lips  her 
love  of  life  prevailed.  She  withheld  the  letter,  put  away  the 
poison  for  future  use  in  case  of  need,  and  resolutely  carried  out 
her  project.  She  married  Noel  Vanstone  and  immediately 
whisked  him  away  to  another  part  of  the  country,  leaving  no 
trace  behind  for  Mrs.  Lecount  to  follow,  except  that  she  wrote 
a  letter  to  Norah,  and  the  letter  bore  a  postmark. 

When  Mrs.  Lecount  arrived  at  Zurich,  and  found  that  the 
letter  summoning  her  thither  was  a  forgery,  she  hurried  back 
to  England,  learned  the  postmark  of  Magdalen's  letter  and 
traced  the  newly-wedded  pair  to  Scotland. 

Following  them,  she  arrived  at  Dumfries,  where  Vanstone 
was  living,  just  after  Magdalen  had  left  for  London  to  see  her 
sister.  Mrs.  Lecount  was  therefore  mistress  of  the  situation, 
and  she  made  the  most  of  her  opportunity.  She  easily  fright- 
ened Noel  Vanstone  into  telling  her  the  terms  of  the  will  he  had 
made.  By  that  will  he  had  given  Magdalen,  at  his  death, 
eighty  thousand  pounds,  precisely  the  amount  of  her  father's 
fortune.  He  had  wanted  to  give  her  more,  but  she  had  reso- 
lutely refused,  her  fixed  purpose  being  merely  to  compel  the 
righting  of  the  wrong  done  to  her  and  Norah. 

Mrs.  Lecount  frightened  Vanstone  with  a  story  of  con- 
spiracy. She  told  him  who  his  wife  was  and  offered  to  prove 
that  she  was  the  person  who,  disguised  as  Miss  Garth,  had 
visited  and  threatened  him  in  London.  She  induced  him  to 
show  her  his  wife's  dresses,  found  the  gown  that  had  served 
the  masquerader  as  a  disguise,  showed  him  the  piece  she  had 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  65 

cut  from  its  flounce,  and  left  doubt  no  ground  to  stand  upon. 
In  the  course  of  her  search  she  discovered  the  bottle  of  laudanum, 
conspicuously  labeled  "Poison,"  and  persuaded  him  that  his 
wife  had  purchased  it  for  his  destruction. 

She  thus  secured  complete  control  of  the  half-imbecile's 
cowardly  mind  and  soul.  She  had  ready  the  draft  of  a  new 
will  which  she  compelled  him  to  execute.  In  it  he  willed  her 
five  thousand  pounds,  and  gave  the  rest  of  his  estate  to  his 
relative  Admiral  Bartram.  But  Mrs.  Lecount  induced  him  also 
to  write  a  letter  to  Admiral  Bartram,  creating  a  secret  trust. 
It  directed  the  Admiral  to  turn  over  the  vast  fortune  to  his 
nephew  and  heir,  George  Bartram — the  cousin  of  Magdalen 
and  Norah — on  condition  that  that  young  man  should  be 
married  within  a  brief  specified  time  at  a  certain  place  and  with 
certain  formalities  to  some  woman  approved  by  the  Admiral. 
If  the  young  man  should  fail  in  these  conditions,  then  the 
money  must  be  given  to  another  relative,  a  Mrs.  Girdlestun. 
Neither  the  will  nor  the  secret-trust  letter  made  mention  of 
Magdalen.    Not  one  penny  was  left  to  her. 

The  excitement  incident  to  all  this  killed  Noel  Vanstone 
before  his  wife's  return.  She  was  left  penniless.  She  could  not 
even  go  into  court  to  claim  her  dower  rights  without  exposing 
the  conspiracy  by  which  she  had  married  Vanstone  under  a 
false  pretense  and  the  assumed  name  Bygrave. 

The  will  suggested,  however,  that  it  was  accompanied  by 
a  letter  creating  a  secret  trust,  and  Magdalen's  lawyers  advised 
her  that  if  for  any  reason  that  secret  trust  had  not  been  or  could 
not  be  executed  to  the  letter  she  would  have  a  claim.  Her 
next  task,  therefore,  was  to  discover  the  letter  constituting  the 
secret  trust,  and  she  set  about  it  with  all  the  arts  that  she  had 
learned  how  to  practise  during  her  career  of  conspiracy  and 
disguise.  She  had  herself  trained  in  the  duties  of  a  parlor- 
maid, and  secured  employment  in  that  capacity  in  Admiral 
Bartram's  vast  establishment  at  St.  Crux. 

George  Bartram  had  met  Norah  and  had  fallen  madly  in 
love  with  her.  When  informed  that  he  must  marry  within  a 
Umited  time,  if  he  would  please  the  Admiral — who  took  pains 
not  to  explain  the  reason  for  his  requirement — the  young  man 
dismissed  all  thought  of  the  dozen  or  more  highly  eligible  young 

A.  D.,  VOL.  V. — 5 


66  NO   NAME 

women  whose  claims  were  pressed  upon  his  attention,  and 
decided  that  he  would  marry  Norah  Vanstone  or  nobody. 
Admiral  Bartram  did  not  repudiate  his  choice,  but  he  instituted 
inquiries,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  done  so  became  known  to 
Norah.  Her  pride  was  aroused,  and  when  George  Bartram 
asked  her  to  be  his  wife,  she  refused,  giving  no  reason.  He 
determined  to  wait  awhile  and  then  try  again,  but  meanwhile 
the  period  within  which  the  secret  trust  required  him  to  marry 
came  to  an  end. 

Under  the  terms  of  the  trust,  the  Admiral  must  now  turn 
over  the  vast  estate  of  Noel  Vanstone  to  Mrs.  Girdlestun,  if 
that  lady  were  living  at  the  time.  She  had,  in  fact,  died  a  few 
days  before  the  date  set,  so  that  the  Admiral  himself  became 
practically  the  sole  inheritor  under  the  will.  As  the  Admiral 
had  already  determined  to  make  George  Bartram  his  own  sole 
heir,  the  failure  of  the  trust  to  put  the  young  man  in  possession 
of  Noel  Vanstone's  fortune  really  affected  him  not  at  all. 

Meanwhile  Magdalen,  in  her  disguise  as  parlor-maid  at 
St.  Crux,  was  diligently  searching  for  the  document  that 
created  the  secret  trust.  Prowling  through  the  vast  rooms  at 
night,  with  a  basket  of  keys  purloined  from  the  Admiral's 
sleeping-apartment,  she  explored  one  after  another  all  the 
antique  pieces  of  furniture  imtil  at  last  one  night  she  found  the 
paper  .she  wanted.  In  her  eagerness  to  discover  what  its  terms 
were,  she  paused  to  read  it  and  while  doing  so  was  surprised 
by  old  Mazey,  a  hard-drinking  sailor  whose  sole  function  in 
life  it  was  to  guard  his  master  and  his  master's  interests.  Mazey 
was  very  drunk  at  the  time,  but  he  had  intelligence  enough  to 
seize  the  paper,  conduct  Magdalen  to  her  room  and  lock  her 
in.  His  admiration  for  her,  however,  was  so  great,  and  in 
a  sailor-like  way  so  sentimental,  that  he  determined  to  let  her 
escape.  Early  in  the  morning  he  released  her,  sent  her  in  a 
cart  to  the  railway  station,  and  permitted  her  to  retreat  to 
London. 

Then  she  told  her  solicitor  what  she  had  discovered,  but  the 
discovery  proved  to  be  of  no  consequence,  because  just  at  that 
time  Admiral  Bartram  died,  leaving  George  Bartram  sole 
heir  to  his  entire  fortune,  including  the  great  wealth  bequeathed 
to  him  by  Noel  Vanstone. 


WILLIAM  WILKIE   COLLINS  67 

In  London  Magdalen  fell  into  sore  poverty  and  was  com- 
pelled to  remove  to  mean  lodgings  in  a  poor  quarter.  There 
she  fell  ill  of  a  fever,  and  as  she  had  neither  money  nor  friends 
and  was  herself  in  delirium,  the  owners  of  the  place  planned 
to  send  her  to  a  charity  hospital.  As  they  were  removing  her 
from  the  house,  in  her  helpless  condition.  Captain  Kirke,  of 
the  good  ship  Deliverance,  just  in  from  China,  caught  sight  of 
her  and  recognized  her  as  the  Miss  Bygrave  whom  he  had  seen 
and  admired  at  Aldborough,  and  whose  face  had  lingered  in 
his  memory  ever  since.  He  ordered  her  carried  back  into  the 
house.  He  rented  the  place  at  once,  sent  for  an  eminent  surgeon, 
Mr.  Merrick,  and  ordered  all  things  done  for  Magdalen's 
benefit,  taking  up  his  own  quarters  in  the  house  and  compelling 
every  possible  attention  to  her. 

As  the  days  passed  and  she  grew  slowly  better,  his  tender 
care  of  her  won  her  heart  and  she  learned  to  love  him  as  he 
had  already  learned  to  love  her. 

Finding  that  some  great  anxiety  was  preying  on  her  mind, 
some  great  longing  retarding  her  recovery,  the  physician  and 
Kirke  set  about  finding  her  friends.  By  good  fortune  communi- 
cation was  opened  with  Norah,  and,  while  Magdalen  slept, 
Captain  Kirke  had  the  pleasure  of  laying  on  the  table  beside 
her  bed  a  letter  from  her  sister,  with  a  postscript  from  Miss 
Garth  and  an  enclosure. 

The  letter  brought  the  news  that  Norah  was  happily  married 
to  George  Bartram  and  insisted  in  the  name  of  both  that  on  the 
next  day  Norah  and  her  husband  should  be  privileged  to  take 
her  to  their  temporary  home  for  complete  recovery.  The  post- 
script from  Miss  Garth  made  the  thoughtful  suggestion  that 
instead  of  going  to  Norah  just  at  first,  Magdalen  should  stay 
quietly  for  a  time  with  herself,  in  a  house  she  had  taken  so  near 
to  Norah's  as  to  permit  of  daily  visits. 

The  enclosure  was  a  note  from  Mr.  Francis  Clare,  telling 
Magdalen  that  his  son  Frank  had  proved  to  be  altogether  a 
scoundrel,  and  was  now  married  to  a  wealthy  widow. 

While  Magdalen  was  still  waiting  at  the  lodging-house  for 
strength  enough  to  bear  the  journey  to  Miss  Garth's,  Captain 
Wragge,  prosperous  now,  appeared.  He  told  Magdalen  that 
he  was  "  living  on  a  pill."    He  explained  that  he  had  invested 


68  NO   NAME 

the  money  she  had  paid  him  in  the  manufacture  and  adver- 
tisement of  a  proprietary  pill,  which  had  already  made  his 
fortune,  thanks  to  his  gifts  of  successful  imposture, 

Norah  had  great  news  to  relate  to  Magdalen.  The  paper 
constituting  the  secret  trust  had  been  found  and,  because  of 
certain  circumstances  which  need  not  be  detailed  here,  its 
legal  effect  was  to  restore  to  Magdalen  her  full  share  of  the 
fortune  which  had  passed  from  her  father  to  Michael  Vanstone, 
thence  to  Noel,  and  at  last  to  George  Bartram,  It  was  George 
Bartram's  generous  purpose,  even  before  the  discovery  of  the 
paper,  to  make  this  restitution  of  his  own  accord.  But  now 
that  the  paper  was  found,  the  law  itself  made  the  money  Mag- 
dalen's of  right,  and  in  accepting  it  she  placed  herself  under  no 
possible  obligation  to  her  generous  cousin. 

Great,  big-hearted  sailor  that  he  was.  Captain  Kirke  tried 
hard  to  forbid  Magdalen's  purpose  of  laying  bare  to  him  the 
story  of  her  life  before  accepting  his  love.  But  Magdalen 
insisted,  and  after  the  tale  was  fully  told,  she  asked  him  to  tell 
her  what  was  in  his  heart — to  tell  the  truth  with  his  own  lips. 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her. 


THE   MOONSTONE   (1868) 

This  story  was  the  most  popular  of  all  the  author's  tales  of  mystery,  and  has 
gone  through  numerous  editions. 

I  HERE  is  a  lonely  little  bay  on  the  coast  of 
Yorkshire,  where  two  spits  of  rock  run  out  into 
the  sea,  with  a  great  stretch  of  quicksand  be- 
tween them,  which  at  the  turn  of  the  tide  trembles 
in  a  remarkable  manner.  It  was  a  lonely  retreat, 
yet  this  was  the  favorite  walk  of  Rosanna  Spear- 
man, and  here  she  sat  in  gloomy  meditation  one 
summer  afternoon.  The  girl  had  been  a  thief, 
and  though  now  a  member  of  kind  Lady  Verin- 
der's  household,  the  secret  of  her  past  preyed  continually  on 
her  mind,  and  Gabriel  Betteredge,  the  old  house-steward, 
found  her  crying  bitterly. 

As  he  sent  her  back  to  the  house  with  a  friendly  word, 
Gabriel  was  accosted  by  a  merry  voice,  and  the  next  moment 
he  greeted  Franklin  Blake,  a  nephew  of  Lady  Verinder's,  who 
had  returned  that  day  to  his  old  home  neighborhood  after  years 
spent  abroad  in  study.  When  Rosanna  saw  him  she  stopped 
and  seemed  to  brighten;  then,  catching  Mr.  Blake's  eye,  she 
blushed  in  great  confusion  as  she  continued  to  walk  toward  the 
house.  The  two  men  wondered  a  moment  at  her  odd  behavior, 
but  dropped  immediately  into  conversation  on  more  interesting 
subjects.  Presently  the  young  man,  who  was  slim  and  hand- 
some, with  a  foreign  vivacity  of  manner,  asked  abruptly: 

"What  about  these  three  Indian  jugglers  who,  as  I  heard 
from  your  daughter,  were  at  Lady  Verinder's  house  to-day?" 

"I  ordered  them  o£f  the  place,"  answered  old  Betteredge, 
"  but  my  daughter  told  me  of  some  hocus-pocus  she  witnessed 
in  the  shrubbery  near  the  road.  They  put  a  little  boy  they  had 
with  them  into  a  clairvoyant  state,  and  asked  him  questions 

69 


yo  THE   MOONSTONE 

in  regard  to  some  gentleman,  who  the  boy  stated  would  pass 
on  a  road  near  there  to-day,  with  a  certain  package  about  him." 

"They  meant  me,"  said  Franklin  decidedly.  "And  the 
package  was  this — my  Uncle  Herncastlc's  famous  diamond, 
the  Moonstone." 

"My  uncle,  who  was  called  the  'Wicked  Colonel,'"  con- 
tinued Franklin,  as  Betteredge  looked  at  him  in  amazement, 
"obtained  possession  of  this  diamond  at  the  storming  of  Serin- 
gapatam  in  1799.  It  was  the  greatest  treasure  in  a  temple 
consecrated  to  the  Moon-God,  and  they  say  he  killed  three 
priests  in  securing  it.  However  that  may  be,  he  has  rewarded 
the  coldness  of  his  sister,  Lady  Verinder,  by  leaving  the  great 
diamond,  valued  at  twenty  thousand  pounds,  to  her  daughter, 
my  cousin  Rachel.  He  died  six  months  ago,  and  the  instruction 
in  his  will  was  to  give  it  to  Rachel  on  the  twenty-first  of  June, 
her  next  birthday." 

"No  good  can  come  of  his  legacy,"  growled  the  old  servant. 
"But  what  connection  have  the  Indians  with  it?" 

"There  is  a  legend  attached  to  the  stone,"  said  Franklin, 
"  that  when  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  Mohammedan  conqueror, 
ages  ago,  three  Brahman  priests,  succeeding  one  another, 
generation  after  generation,  kept  watch  over  it  until  finally 
they  recovered  it.  I  learned  these  facts  from  my  uncle's 
lawyer. 

"My  Uncle  Herncastle  believed  he  would  be  murdered  if 
he  retained  possession  of  the  diamond,  so  he  persuaded  my 
father  to  place  it  at  his  banker's  as  his  own  property.  In  event 
of  his  death  from  natural  causes  the  stone  was  to  go  to  Rachel ; 
but  in  case  he  died  by  violence  the  jewel  was  to  be  sent  to 
Amsterdam  and  cut  into  six  separate  stones. 

"In  other  words,  he  said  to  his  enemies:  'Kill  me  and  the 
diamond  will  be  the  diamond  no  longer;  its  identity  will  be 
destroyed.' 

"I  will  add  to  this  that,  after  taking  the  diamond  from  the 
bank,  I  was  followed  by  a  shabby,  dark-complexioned  man, 
and  believe  I  escaped  on  the  road  here  by  coming  several  hours 
earlier  than  I  intended  at  first." 

Under  these  strange  circumstances,  it  was  determined  that 
Franklin  should  at  once  ride  to  Frizinghall,  and  deposit  the 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  71 

diamond  in  the  bank  until  Rachel's  birthday,  a  month  later, 
and  that  nothing  should  be  said  to  alarm  the  ladies. 

Gabriel  Betteredge  kept  an  observant  eye  on  the  actions 
and  affairs  of  the  family,  and  during  the  time  that  intervened 
between  Mr.  Blake's  arrival  and  Rachel's  birthday  he  took 
note  of  three  things. 

First,  Rosanna's  habit  of  putting  herself  in  the  way  of  Mr. 
Blake,  and  her  endeavors  to  attract  his  attention  convinced  him 
that  the  poor  girl,  despite  her  plain  face  and  a  slight  deformity 
in  figure,  was  desperately  in  love  with  him. 

Second,  in  making  a  tour  of  the  grounds  one  night  he 
heard  someone  running  away,  and  picked  up  an  article  he 
remembered  to  have  seen  in  possession  of  the  East  Indian 
strollers  who  had  recently  visited  the  place. 

And  third,  there  was  no  doubt  that  Franklin  Blake  had 
fallen  in  love  with  the  pretty  but  self-willed  Miss  Rachel. 

There  was  no  mistaking  Franklin's  devotion;  he  even  gave 
up  his  habit  of  smoking  because  once  she  happened  to  criticize 
it,  and  his  dabbling  genius  directed  the  two  into  many  half-idle 
pursuits.  Among  these  was  the  decorating  of  the  door  to  Miss 
Rachel's  boudoir,  Franklin  having  invented  a  new  mixture  to 
moisten  paint,  which  he  called  a  "vehicle." 

June  twenty-first  came  without  misadventure,  and  Frank- 
lin, who  had  said  nothing  to  the  family  of  his  uncle's  legacy, 
arranged  to  ride  over  to  Frizinghall  and  return  with  Godfrey 
Ablewhite  and  his  sisters,  who  were  to  attend  Rachel's  birth- 
day party. 

Godfrey  Ablewhite  was  the  ornament  of  many  ladies' 
charitable  societies  in  London,  but  his  persuasive  eloquence 
had  not  yet  been  sufficient  to  prevail  on  Miss  Rachel  to  marry 
him,  though  in  the  opinion  of  Betteredge  he  still  stood  an  even 
chance  with  Franklin  Blake. 

The  marvelous  Moonstone  was  presented  just  before  dinner; 
it  was  as  large  as  a  plover's  egg,  and  its  golden  flashes  illu- 
mined the  curtained  drawing-room  like  the  harvest  moon,  with 
only  a  single  flaw  discernible  in  its  mellow  heart. 

Miss  Rachel  was  fascinated;  her  cousins  screamed;  only 
Godfrey  smiled  at  such  vanities. 

Several  other  guests  were  present  at  the  dinner;    among 


72  THE   MOONSTONE 

them  Dr.  Candy  and  Mr.  Murthwaite,  the  celebrated  traveler 
in  the  Orient.  The  latter  looked  at  the  Moonstone  with  grave 
interest. 

"If  you  ever  travel  in  India,  Miss  Verinder,"  he  said, 
"don't  take  the  diamond  with  you." 

The  dinner-party  was  not  a  brilliant  success.  The  mys- 
terious Eastern  jewel  seemed  to  cast  an  oppressive  spell  over 
the  company,  and  the  only  enlivening  incident  was  a  dispute 
between  Dr.  Candy  and  Mr.  Blake.  The  latter  had  not  slept 
well  since  giving  up  his  cigars,  and  the  doctor  wished  him  to 
take  a  course  of  medicine. 

"Taking  medicine  and  groping  in  the  dark  are  the  same 
thing,"  said  Franklin;  and  the  dispute  as  to  the  efficacy  of 
drugs  finally  rose  so  high  that  Lady  Verinder  silenced  the 
argument. 

After  dinner  the  party  gathered  on  the  terrace  and  were 
chatting  quietly,  when  suddenly  the  three  Indian  jugglers 
reappeared  and  proceeded  to  give  their  little  entertainment, 
Mr.  Murthwaite,  quietly  approaching  from  behind,  spoke 
suddenly  to  one  of  them  in  his  own  language.  The  fellow 
started  and  turned  ashy  pale. 

"They  are  not  jugglers,"  he  told  Franklin  later,  "but 
high-caste  Brahmans,  who  have  made  a  tremendous  sacrifice 
in  appearing  thus;  they  have  patience,  and  the  ferocity  of 
tigers,  and  I  do  not  doubt  they  purpose  to  recover  the  Moon- 
stone.   My  advice  is,  take  it  away  and  have  it  cut  up  at  once." 

During  this  conversation  they  met  Godfrey  Ablewhite  and 
the  doctor  walking  in  the  garden,  and  soon  all  four  reentered 
the  drawing-room.  The  guests  departed  in  a  pouring  storm 
that  had  blown  up  suddenly,  and  Rachel's  mother,  with  an 
instinctive  suspicion  of  the  wicked  Colonel's  good  will,  asked 
Rachel  to  let  her  keep  the  diamond  until  morning. 

But  the  young  lady  declared:  "What,  are  there  thieves  in 
the  house?    I  shall  put  it  in  the  Indian  cabinet  in  my  room." 

In  spite  of  their  rivalry,  Godfrey,  noticing  the  depressed 
look  of  his  cousin  Franklin,  pressed  him  to  drink  something 
before  he  went  to  bed. 

"Very  well,  send  up  some  brandy  to  my  room,"  said  Frank- 
lin, and  the  butler,  having  despatched  the  footman  with  the 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  73 

liquor,  went  out  to  release  his  two  great  dogs,  for  he  was  uneasy 
over  the  reappearance  of  the  Indians. 

But,  in  spite  of  these  precautions,  with  not  an  alarm  during 
the  night,  with  every  locked  door  and  window  unforced,  be- 
tween that  time  and  morning  the  diamond  vanished. 

Not  a  trace  could  be  found  of  it,  nor  a  plausible  theory 
advanced  as  to  the  manner  of  its  disappearance.  There  was 
alarm  and  confusion  throughout  the  house,  though  Betteredge 
and  Franklin  Blake,  with  the  occult  history  of  the  Moonstone 
in  mind,  were  the  most  troubled,  with  the  exception  of  Rachel. 
The  effect  on  her  was  overwhelming.  She  shut  herself  in  her 
room,  admitting  even  her  mother  with  great  reluctance,  and 
absolutely  refusing  to  discuss  the  mystery  of  the  diamond. 

Franklin,  after  telling  Lady  Verinder  of  the  conspiracy  to 
recover  the  Moonstone,  insisted  on  the  immediate  arrest  of 
the  three  Indians  and  an  investigation.  He  went  to  Frizinghall, 
and  the  superintendent  of  police  came  over  and  took  up  the 
affair. 

Though  the  immates  of  the  house  had  been  going  and  com- 
ing all  morning,  he  insisted  now  that  no  one  should  be  permitted 
to  leave  the  house.  To  express  their  protest  against  this  implied 
suspicion,  the  servants  whisked  upstairs  in  a  body. 

But  he  cowed  them  with  his  military  voice:  "You  women 
get  downstairs,  every  one  of  you,"  he  vociferated.  "Look!" 
pointing  to  a  little  smear  on  the  decorative  painting  of  Miss 
Rachel's  door.  "Look  what  mischief  the  skirts  of  some  of 
you  have  done  already."  The  servants  obeyed,  and  later  their 
effects  were  searched.  Though  the  Indians  were  arrested  as 
vagabonds,  they  proved  an  alibi;  and  as  the  fastenings  of  doors 
and  windows  were  unbroken,  the  conclusion  was  inevitable 
that  the  diamond  must  have  been  taken  by  some  one  in  the 
house.  But  not  a  clue  could  be  discovered,  and,  most  strange 
of  all.  Miss  Rachel  refused  to  assist,  or  even  to  see  the  officer. 

Finally,  Franklin  Blake  telegraphed  to  London  for  a 
detective.  An  incident  that  morning  directed  his  suspicion 
toward  Rosanna  Spearman.  She  had  approached  him  in  a 
half-frightened  way,  and  said:  "This  is  a  curious  thing  about 
the  diamond.  But  they  will  never  find  it,  sir,  nor  the  person 
who  took  it,  either — I'll  answer  for  that." 


74  THE  MOONSTONE 

Blake  was  astonished,  but  Betteredge's  approach  put  an 
end  to  her  remarks. 

The  old  steward  noticed  later  that  Rosanna  was  not  at 
dinner  with  the  other  servants.  His  daughter  brought  word 
that  she  had  had  a  hysterical  attack,  and  would  be  obliged  to 
stay  in  bed  the  rest  of  the  day. 

On  the  second  day  after  the  birthday,  two  pieces  of 
news  reached  Betteredge.  The  baker's  man  remarked 
that  he  had  seen  Rosanna  walking  towards  Frizinghall 
the  day  before;  though  there  seemed  to  be  no  doubt  that 
she  had  been  ill  in  bed  at  the  time.  And  Dr.  Candy  had 
been  taken  with  a  fever  as  a  result  of  driving  home  through 
the  rain. 

The  same  afternoon  a  stranger  appeared  at  the  house.  He 
was  dressed  in  decent  black;  he  had  a  steely  gray  eye,  a  hatchet 
face,  and  a  soft  melancholy  voice.  This  was  the  celebrated 
detective,  Sergeant  Cuff. 

The  Sergeant's  first  step  was  to  examine  Miss  Rachel's 
room.  He  went  about  it  quietly,  almost  inattentively,  then  he 
laid  a  lean  finger  on  the  smeared  spot  on  the  door. 

He  listened  to  the  superintendent's  account  of  how  it  came 
there.  "A  mere  trifle,"  added  the  latter  contemptuously. 
But  Cuff  sent  for  Franklin  Blake,  and  learned  that  this  paint 
had  been  put  on  not  later  than  three  o'clock  the  afternoon  of 
Rachel's  birthday.  "The  vehicle  dries  it  in  twelve  hours," 
added  Franklin. 

"Then,"  remarked  Cuff,  "it  must  have  been  eight  hours 
dry  when  one  of  the  servants'  dresses  were  supposed  to  have 
smeared  it.    You  have  put  the  clue  into  our  hands." 

As  these  words  were  on  his  lips,  the  bedroom  door  opened, 
and  Rachel  came  out  hurriedly. 

"Did  you  say,"  she  asked,  pointing  to  Franklin,  "that  he 
put  the  clue  into  your  hands?" 

Her  mind  seemed  strangely  disturbed,  and,  as  the  Sergeant 
nodded,  she  went  on  savagely; 

"If  you  are  a  police  officer,  do  your  duty  by  yourself  and 
don't  allow  Franklin  Blake  to  help  you." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  the  smear?"  asked  Cuff 
immovably. 


WILLIAM  mLKIE   COLLINS  75 

"I  do  not,"  she  answered  and  returning  to  her  room  she 
shut  herself  in. 

As  Rachel's  maid  had  been  the  last  person  in  this  room  on 
the  night  of  the  twenty-first,  she  was  questioned  next.  She 
had  taken  an  interest  in  the  painting  of  the  door,  and  had  looked 
at  it  the  last  thing  before  going  to  bed,  about  midnight.  There 
was  no  smear  on  it  then.  The  gown  she  had  worn  was  pro- 
duced and  there  was  no  paint-stain  on  it. 

Sergeant  Cuff  requested  permission  to  examine  the  ward- 
robe of  every  person  in  the  house.  To  this  everyone  consented, 
except  Rachel,  who  flatly  refused. 

Cuff  then  examined  the  servants  severally.  "If  Rosanna 
wants  to  go  out,  let  her  go,"  he  said  privately  to  Betteredge. 
Two  of  the  servants  had  told  Cuff  that  on  the  afternoon  Rosanna 
was  supposed  to  be  ill  they  had  tried  her  door  and  found  it 
locked,  with  the  keyhole  stopped  up.  At  midnight  they  had 
seen  a  light  under  her  door  and  heard  the  crackling  of  a  fire. 

When  Franklin  heard  this  he  said:  "The  girl's  illness  was  a 
blind.  She  had  a  guilty  reason  for  slipping  away  to  town — 
the  time  when  the  baker  met  her — and  the  fire  in  her  room 
that  night  destroyed  the  paint-stained  dress." 

He  wished  to  tell  Lady  Verinder,  but  Cuff  forbade.  "She 
will  tell  her  daughter,  Miss  Rachel,  who  refused  to  let  her  own 
wardrobe  be  examined,"  he  said.  Franklin  was  deeply  offended 
at  this  remark,  and  from  that  moment  refused  his  cooperation 
to  the  Sergeant. 

That  afternoon  Cuff  saw  Rosanna  set  out  towards  Cobb's 
Hole,  the  village  near  the  Shivering  Sands,  and  followed  her 
in  company  with  Betteredge.  On  the  beach  near  the  quicksand 
the  Sergeant  found  small  footprints,  as  if  a  woman  had  walked 
to  that  point  from  the  village,  and  had  then  retraced  her  steps. 

"From  here  she  has  walked  both  ways  through  the  water 
to  that  ledge  of  rocks,"  said  Cuff,  "  and  her  tracks  are  washed 
away.  Now,  after  obtaining  in  town  the  cloth  to  make  a  sub- 
stitute night-dress — as  I  have  learned  she  did — Rosanna  did 
not  burn  the  gown  with  the  paint-smear.  She  is  far  too  wily  to 
have  the  odor  in  her  room  and  such  ashes  on  the  hearth.  In- 
stead she  will  hide  it,  and  she  has  come  here  for  that  purpose." 

They  proceeded   to  a  fisherman's  cottage  that   Rosanna 


76  THE   MOONSTONE 

sometimes  visited,  where  the  Sergeant's  tactful  conversation 
elicited  several  important  facts. 

Rosanna  had  that  afternoon  written  a  long  letter,  saying 
that  she  intended  to  leave  Lady  Verinder's  service.  Then  she 
had  bought  an  old  japanned  tin  case  from  the  fisherman's 
wife  to  pack  some  of  her  things  in,  and  a  dog-chain  to  cord  it. 

"She  has  thrown  me  off  the  scent,"  said  Cuff,  as  they 
walked  away.  "Of  course  she  has  fastened  one  end  of  the 
chain  to  the  tin  case  and  the  other  to  a  rock,  and  sunk  the  box  in 
the  quicksand  for  the  present.  But  what  the  devil's  in  it?  If 
she  merely  wanted  to  hide  that  telltale  dress,  she  could  have 
tied  a  rock  to  it  and  thrown  it  into  the  sands." 

On  their  return  they  learned  that  Miss  Verinder  had  sud- 
denly determined  to  leave  the  house. 

That  night  Rosanna  spoke  to  Franklin  again,  but  the  young 
man,  gloomy  and  preoccupied,  answered  absently,  and  with 
a  look  of  pain  she  abruptly  left  the  room. 

"I  believe  she  wants  to  make  a  confession  to  me,"  he  told 
Betteredge,  and  Sergeant  Cuff  overheard  him.  That  night 
the  old  steward  discovered  the  latter  sleeping  in  front  of  Miss 
Verinder's  door,  and  was  indignant. 

"Whatever  Rosanna  has  hidden,"  Cuff  explained  coolly, 
"it  is  evident  Miss  Verinder  couldn't  go  away  till  she  knew  it 
was  hidden.  If  they  try  to  communicate  again  I  wish  to  stop 
it." 

The  next  morning,  when  Franklin  was  walking  in  the 
shrubbery,  Rosanna  appeared  again,  as  if  determined  to  speak 
to  him. 

Sergeant  Cuff,  on  the  watch,  came  up  rapidly,  and  said, 
" One  of  the  female  servants  spoke  to  you  privately  last  night!" 

Franklin  replied  coldly  that  he  had  nothing  to  say;  but  the 
Sergeant  raised  his  voice  so  Rosanna  could  overhear: 

"If  you  have  any  interest  in  Rosanna  Spearman  you  need 
not  be  afraid  to  tell  me  what  she  said." 

Franklin,  pretending  not  to  see  the  girl,  and  determined 
not  to  cause  her  trouble,  answered  in  the  same  voice: 

"I  take  no  interest  whatever  in  Rosanna  Spearman,"  at 
which  the  girl  walked  away. 

Rachel  departed  as  she  had  resolved,  without  heeding  a 


WILLIAM   WILKIE  COLLINS  77 

remonstrance  from  Cuff,  and  ignoring  Franklin  Blake  entirely. 
Rosanna  eluded  the  vigilance  of  Cuff's  assistant  that  morning, 
and  gave  a  letter  to  the  marketman  to  mail  for  her.  This 
letter  was  addressed  to  the  daughter  of  Yolland,  the  fisherman. 
That  afternoon  she  left  a  pathetic  little  note  to  Betteredge 
and  gave  her  body  to  the  Shivering  Sands. 

Then  the  Sergeant  made  known  to  Lady  Verinder  his  con- 
viction that  Rachel  had  had  the  Moonstone  in  her  possession 
from  first  to  last. 

"Probably  she  had  some  secret  debt  to  pay,"  he  conjec- 
tured, "and  her  unreasoning  anger  against  Mr.  Blake  is  because 
of  his  activity  at  first  in  the  attempt  to  find  it.  As  for  Rosanna 
Spearman,  I  know  her  antecedents,  and  she  would  have  been 
the  very  instrument  to  aid  in  raising  money  on  the  diamond." 

Absolutely  unconvinced.  Lady  Verinder  dismissed  the  Ser- 
geant with  a  liberal  fee.  The  Indian  jugglers  had  been  liberated 
and  Mr.  Blake  went  abroad,  heart-broken  by  Rachel's  cruel 
determination  never  to  see  him  again. 

Lady  Verinder  and  her  daughter  went  immediately  to  Lon- 
don, the  latter  continuing  in  her  nervous  half-distracted  state 
of  mind.  They  learned  in  London  of  a  curious  affair  that  con- 
cerned Mr.  Godfrey  Ablewhite.  A  day  or  two  after  the  arrival 
of  the  latter  from  Yorkshire,  he  had  met  a  gentleman  in  the 
doorway  of  the  bank  where  he  transacted  business.  Although 
strangers,  there  was  the  usual  contest  of  politeness  as  to  pre- 
cedence. Then  they  bowed  and  parted.  On  returning  home 
Godfrey  met  a  messenger,  who  lured  him  to  a  strange  house. 
After  being  throttled  and  bound  his  pockets  were  carefully 
searched,  but  on  being  released  later  he  found  his  belongings 
intact. 

The  strange  gentleman  he  had  encountered  at  the  bank 
had  had  precisely  the  same  experience,  and  in  both  instances 
the  assailants  were  three  East  Indians. 

The  stranger  was  Mr.  Septimus  Luker,  a  well-known  and 
not  too  scrupulous  money-lender,  who  reported  to  the  police 
that  he  had  been  robbed  of  a  receipt  for  a  valuable  of  great 
price,  that  he  had  that  day  deposited  with  his  bankers. 

The  circumstances  concerning  the  disappearance  of  the 
Moonstone  had  become  public;   and  now,  as  the  missing  jewel 


yS  THE    MOONSTONE 

seemed  to  have  some  connection  with  the  mysterious  assaults 
upon  Luker  and  Ablewhite,  popular  curiosity  caused  con- 
siderable gossip.  Of  course,  this  reached  Rachel's  ears,  and 
when  Godfrey  Albewhite  called  on  her  she  insisted,  with  great 
agitation,  on  learning  the  particulars  of  the  recent  assault. 

Godfrey  said  then  he  would  not  stoop  to  deny  certain 
charges  that  he  had  taken  the  diamond  and  placed  it  in  pawn 
with  Mr.  Luker;   and  he  wished  to  drop  the  subject. 

"I  know  you  are  innocent,"  Rachel  declared  in  the  presence 
of  her  mother,  ''and  hitherto  I  have  not  done  you  justice. 
But  I  here  write  a  declaration,  and  sign  it,  that  you  did  not 
take  the  Moonstone.  As  for  my  own  reputation — why,  the  best 
detective  in  England  declares  that  I  have  stolen  my  own 
diamond!" 

Godfrey  burned  this  declaration  in  Lady  Verinder's  pres- 
ence; and  the  public  continued  to  ask:  Why  had  the  Indians 
searched  Mr.  Ablewhite,  and  why  Mr.  Luker  also,  apparently 
only  because  he  had  met  the  other  gentleman  incidentally? 

Rachel  was  so  favorably  impressed  with  Godfrey's  self- 
sacrifice  that  she  consented  to  marry  him.  Her  mother's  death 
obliged  them  to  postpone  the  marriage,  and  later  Matthew 
Bruff,  Rachel's  solicitor,  discovered  that  Godfrey  had  somehow 
obtained  a  copy  of  Lady  Verinder's  will.  So,  convinced  of  his 
mercenary  motives,  Rachel  broke  the  engagement,  Godfrey 
coolly  acquiescing,  as  he  had  learned  that  Rachel  was  to  have 
only  a  life  interest  in  the  estate. 

About  this  time  a  man  of  Oriental  aspect  entered  Matthew 
Bruff's  office  and  asked  for  a  loan  on  a  casket  of  Indian  work- 
manship. Of  course  he  declined  to  make  the  loan,  and  the 
stranger  then  said : 

"Suppose  I  obtain  the  loan  somewhere?  In  what  time 
would  it  be  the  customary  thing  for  me  to  pay  it  back?" 

"In  one  year,"  replied  the  solicitor.  The  same  question 
and  answer  had  previously  passed  between  this  seeming  Oriental 
and  Mr.  Luker. 

After  thinking  this  over,  Mr.  Bruff  concluded:  "We  may 
look  for  a  reappearance  of  the  Indians  the  last  of  next  June, 
when  the  man  who  evidently  has  placed  the  diamond  in  pawn 
with  Luker  will  probably  repay  the  loan." 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  79 

Nearly  a  year  passed  before  Franklin  Blake  was  recalled 
to  England,  and  as  Rachel  still  declined  to  see  him  he  was 
more  determined  than  ever  to  solve  the  mystery  of  the  missing 
diamond. 

When  Blake  reached  Yorkshire,  Betteredge  informed  him 
that  the  letter  Rosanna  Spearman  had  mailed  to  the  YoUands 
enclosed  another  addressed  to  Franklin  Blake,  which  they  were 
to  deliver  only  into  his  hands.    The  next  day  he  received  it. 

It  began  with  the  girl's  confession  of  love  for  him,  and  her 
despair  at  his  indifference,  which  at  last  caused  her  suicide. 
Franklin  was  greatly  distressed  by  all  this,  but  his  motive  in 
solving  the  affair  was  dominant;  so,  accompanied  by  Better- 
edge,  he  set  out  for  the  Shivering  Sands,  with  a  memorandum 
Rosanna  had  enclosed  in  her  letter  to  him. 

Following  its  directions,  he  went  out  on  the  spit  of  rock, 
and  after  some  groping  among  the  weeds  on  its  edge,  grasped 
a  chain.  Feeling  that  he  was  on  the  threshold  of  a  great  dis- 
covery, he  drew  it  in,  and  brought  up  from  its  burial  place 
below  the  japanned  case.  He  opened  it  and  drew  out  a  night- 
gown, bearing  a  smear  of  paint  from  the  door  of  Rachel's 
room,  and  marked  with  his  own  name.  He  had  discovered 
himself  as  the  thief! 

In  the  latter  half  of  her  letter  the  girl  had  written  that,  while 
putting  Mr.  Blake's  room  in  order  the  morning  after  the 
robbery,  she  had  discovered  the  stain  on  his  gown.  At  once 
reaching  the  conclusion  that  he  had  stolen  the  diamond,  she 
had  feigned  illness,  slipped  away  unnoticed,  and  obtained  the 
material  to  make  a  substitute  gown.  The  original  she  had  hid- 
den for  some  purpose  of  love  or  revenge. 

After  recovering  somewhat  from  the  shock  of  this  dis- 
closure, Franklin  returned  to  London,  where  Mr.  Bruff  arranged 
for  him  to  meet  Rachel  at  Bruff's  own  house,  without  apprising 
her  of  the  arrangement. 

The  interview  was  painful  and  excited.  Rachel  responded 
angrily  to  Blake's  pleading,  and  when  he  asked  whether  Ro- 
sanna had  shown  her  his  night-gown  with  its  evidence  of  guilt, 
she  answered  vehemently: 

"Are  you  mad,  to  deny  it?  You  villain,  I  saw  you  take 
the  diamond  with  my  own  eyes!" 


So  THE  MOONSTONE 

Finally  she  submitted  to  his  questioning,  and  told  of  sitting 
in  her  room  alone  on  the  night  of  the  robbery,  when  she  sud- 
denly saw  a  light  under  her  door.  Then  Franklin  had  entered 
her  room  bearing  a  candle.  Blowing  out  her  own  light  she  had 
shrunk  into  a  corner,  and  had  seen  him  glance  around  boldly. 
Then  taking  the  diamond  from  the  Indian  cabinet,  he  had 
passed  again  into  the  hall. 

After  making  this  revelation  she  became  hysterical,  and 
Franklin  terminated  the  interview.  Through  it  all  she  had 
shown  a  kind  of  horror  of  him,  yet  at  times  she  had  apparently 
a  longing  to  trust  him,  and  Franklin  believed  that  in  her  heart 
she  loved  him. 

Having  received  a  letter  from  Betteredge  that  Dr.  Candy 
wished  to  see  him,  Blake  returned  to  Yorkshire.  On  the  night 
of  the  birthday  party  the  doctor  had  been  caught  in  the  rain, 
with  a  resulting  fever  that  had  destroyed  his  memory. 

He  endeavored  repeatedly  but  in  vain  to  impart  to  Frank- 
lin something  that  seemed  to  weigh  on  his  mind.  At  last  the 
doctor's  assistant,  a  discerning,  studious  man,  cleared  up  the 
situation.  During  the  doctor's  delirium  the  assistant  had 
written  down  his  broken  utterances,  in  order  to  substantiate 
some  pathological  theory  of  his  own;  then  he  had  tried  to 
fill  them  in  to  make  sense. 

This  strange  document  proved  that  the  doctor,  abetted 
by  Godfrey  Ablewhite,  had  managed  to  drop  a  dose  of  lauda- 
num in  the  brandy  Franklin  had  drunk  that  night.  He  had 
done  this  half-maliciously  to  confute  Franklin's  argument 
against  the  efficacy  of  medicine  in  cases  of  insomnia. 

"And  so,  Mr.  Blake,  you  stole  that  diamond  under  the 
influence  of  opium,"  declared  Ezra  Jennings,  the  doctor's 
assistant.  "I  am  convinced  of  it,  because  I  am  one  of  its 
victims,  and  a  student  of  its  effects." 

Franklin  could  not  but  subscribe  to  this  opinion  and,  as  a 
last  means  of  convincing  Rachel  that  he  had  committed  the 
theft  guiltlessly,  he  consented  to  make,  with  Jennings's  assist- 
ance, a  dramatic  experiment. 

Rachel's  house  was  arranged  precisely  as  it  had  been  the 
night  of  the  birthday  party;  and  Franklin,  having  been  thrown 
into  the  same  nervous  condition  by  a  sudden  discontinuance 


WILLIAM   WILKIE   COLLINS  8i 

of  smoking,  took  one  night  a  similar  dose  of  opium,  given  by 
Mr.  Jennings. 

In  the  presence  of  the  incredulous  Mr.  Bruff,  Betteredge, 
and  Sergeant  Cuff,  Franklin,  under  the  influence  of  the  potent 
drug,  actually  reentered  Rachel's  room  and  once  more  com- 
mitted the  theft,  a  piece  of  glass  having  been  substituted  for 
the  diamond  in  the  Indian  cabinet. 

The  experiment  was  a  success  in  every  particular  but  one. 
Immediately  after  taking  the  piece  of  glass,  Blake  succumbed 
to  the  drug,  and  sank  into  a  sleep  on  a  couch  in  Rachel's  room; 
so  that  what  had  been  done  with  the  Moonstone  remained  as 
much  a  mystery  as  ever, 

Rachel,  unknown  to  Blake,  had  come  down  to  witness  the 
experiment,  and  watched  by  the  couch  till  he  awoke,  overcome 
with  happiness  at  the  proof  of  her  lover's  innocence. 

The  party  returned  to  London,  where  Mr.  Bruff  received  a 
report  from  detectives  that  Luker,  the  money-lender,  with 
two  guards,  had  left  his  house  to  go  to  the  bank.  It  was  then 
just  a  year  since  the  disappearance  of  the  Moonstone. 

Franklin  and  Bruff  hastened  to  the  bank  in  time  to  see 
Mr.  Luker  walk  through  the  crowd  to  the  door,  brushing 
against  a  swarthy  man  with  a  bushy  black  beard,  who  might 
have  been  one  of  the  Indians  in  disguise.  Bruff's  office-boy, 
who  was  with  his  employer  and  Blake,  disappeared  at  that 
moment,  and  did  not  return  until  the  next  morning,  when  he 
appeared  at  Franklin's  lodging  and  told  of  following  the 
swarthy  man  to  a  sailor's  resort  near  the  river,  after  seeing 
Mr.  Luker  pass  him  something  stealthily  as  he  hurried  out  of 
the  bank. 

Franklin  and  Sergeant  Cuff  immediately  drove  to  the 
sailor's  resort,  and  inquired  for  the  swarthy  man.  The  door 
of  the  sailor's  room  was  locked,  but  it  was  broken  in.  On  the 
bed  lay  the  corpse  of  the  dark-bearded  man.  Sergeant  Cuff 
looked  at  it  closely,  then  tore  from  the  face  a  false  beard  and 
wig,  and  the  features  of  Godfrey  Ablewhite  were  exposed. 

On  a  tabic  stood  a  small  empty  box;  beside  it  was  a  paper 
with  a  broken  seal  and  an  inscrijAion:  "  Deposited  with  Messrs. 
Bushe,  by  Mr.  Septimus  Luker,  a  small  wooden  box,  sealed  in 
this  envelope,  and  containing  a  valuable  of  great  price.    The 

A.  D.,  VOL.  V. — 6 


82  THE   MOONSTONE 

box  to  be  given,  when  claimed,  only  on  the  personal  application 
of  Mr.  Lukcr." 

These  words  cleared  up  all  doubt  on  one  point:  this  man 
had  had  the  Moonstone  in  his  possession  when  he  left  the  bank 
on  the  previous  day.  When  cornered  by  Sergeant  Cuff  Luker 
admitted  that  Godfrey  had  pawned  the  Moonstone  to  him, 
with  a  story  that  when  Franklin  was  returning  along  the  hall 
to  his  own  room,  the  night  of  the  birthday  dinner,  he — Godfrey 
— had  met  him,  and  that  Franklin  had  drowsily  given  him  the 
stone  to  keep  for  him,  with  instructions  to  put  it  in  a  safe  place. 
Ablewhite  had  led  a  double  life  and,  being  hard  pressed  for 
money,  he  had  yielded  to  temptation  and  made  away  with  the 
diamond. 

Several  years  later  Mr.  Murthwaite,  the  celebrated  traveler 
in  the  Orient,  reported  that  he  had  witnessed  in  northern  India 
a  great  sacred  festival  of  the  Brahmans  in  honor  of  the  Moon- 
God.  Three  priests  officiated  at  the  unveiling  of  the  idol,  and 
then,  turning  from  one  another,  took  their  several  ways  out  into 
the  world,  never  to  meet  again,  for  in  pursuit  of  the  long-missing 
chief  treasure  and  ornament  of  that  sacred  figure  they  had 
mingled  with  the  Christians  and  had  become  degraded  from 
their  caste.  And  in  the  forehead  of  the  great  idol  glittered 
the  star  of  their  accomplished  destiny,  once  more  returned 
from  its  varying  orbit  of  mystery  and  blood — the  Moonstone. 


RALPH  CONNOR 

(CHARLES   WILLIAM   GORDON) 
(Canada,  i860) 

THE  SKY  PILOT:   A  TALE  OF  THE  FOOTHILLS 

(1899) 

"  Ralph  Connor  "  is  the  pen-name  of  a  Canadian  clergyman  whose  novels 
came  into  great  vogue  just  at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century.  His  tales  are, 
with  one  exception,  set  in  the  wild  regions  of  Canada,  usually  in  what  is  loosely 
called  "the  Northwest."  This  is  more  literally  middle  Canada,  the  real  North- 
west being  still  untouched  so  far  as  literature  is  concerned.  The  scene  of  The 
Sky  Pilot  is  Alberta,  and  the  time  only  just  enough  removed  from  the  present  to 
place  it  in  the  period  before  farmers  began  seriously  to  encroach  on  the  lands 
held  by  cattlemen.  The  romantic  life  of  the  "  Wild  West, "  which  once  belonged 
to  the  United  States  alone,  and  which  has  made  a  great  impression  on  its  litera- 
ture, has  been  transferred  to  Canada  through  the  rapid  conquest  of  that  fresh 
country  by  pioneers;  and  Ralph  Connor's  scenes,  therefore,  are  Canadian  by 
the  accident  of  lying  north  of  the  line  at  a  time  when  ranch  life  south  of  it  has 
become  measurably  regulated  by  law,  and  so  tamer  and  less  interesting. 

ECAUSE,  first,  I  was  a  failure  as  a  college 
student,  and,  second,  because  I  had  a  cousin  in 
the  wilds  of  Alberta,  I  was  permitted  to  try  what 
good  I  could  do  for  myself,  and  possibly  for 
others,  in  that  country;  and  so,  having  passed 
somewhat  beyond  the  tenderfoot  stage,  I  became 
the  school-teacher  at  Swan  Creek.  At  the  time 
of  my  arrival,  and  for  some  time  thereafter,  the 
dominating  social  force  of  that  neighborhood 
was  the  Noble  Seven.  Whatever  this  was  originally,  it  had 
long  outgrown  its  numerical  limitation,  and  its  present  purpose 
was  to  give  periodical  opportunity  for  whisky-drinking  and 
poker-playing.  Liquor-selling  is  prohibited  by  law  in  Alberta, 
but  one  may  make  medicinal  use  of  whisky  in  case  of  illness; 
and  when  the  Noble  Seven  were  about  to  meet,  one  or  more, 
usually  more,  of  its  members  fell  conveniently  ill,  and  enough 

83 


84  THE  SKY  PILOT 

whisky  was  brought  in  to  cure  all  the  disorders  of  the  entire 
community  for  a  twelvemonth.  As  the  meetings  were  usually 
held  on  the  first  day  of  the  week,  the  time  and  occasion  came  to 
be  known  as  Permit  Sunday. 

The  most  conspicuous  member  of  the  Noble  Seven  was 
"the  Duke."  We  never  learned  his  name.  It  was  known, 
doubtless,  to  the  Hon.  Fred  Ashley,  of  Ashley  Ranch,  for  there 
the  Duke  was  a  frequent  and  familiar  visitor;  but  neither  the 
Hon.  Fred  nor  his  wife,  Lady  Charlotte,  ever  mentioned  it. 
The  Duke  was  the  coolest  gambler  and  the  most  reckless 
drinker  and  rider  of  them  all.  Next  to  him  came  a  cross- 
grained  Scotchman  named  Bruce.  I  put  him  next,  not  because 
he  so  much  excelled  the  others  in  such  matters  as  pertain  to 
ranch  life,  as  because  he  was  so  devoted  to  the  Duke  as  to  seem 
in  some  sort  a  part  of  him.  Bruce  submitted  to  no  control  save 
that  of  the  Duke,  and  endured  from  him  what  others  of  us 
probably  would  have  resented.  He  was  a  University  of  Edin- 
burgh man,  while  Hi  Kendal  and  Bronco  Bill,  the  Hon.  Fred's 
two  cowboys,  were  as  ignorant  as  they  were  untamed. 

The  rest  of  the  company  consisted  of  just  such  brave-hearted 
men,  recognizing  none  but  their  own  laws,  as  are  to  be  found 
wherever  cattle-raising  is  carried  on  in  an  unfenced  country. 
It  was  to  this  country  and  this  sort  of  men  that  Arthur  Welling- 
ton Moore  came.  I  was  the  first  to  know  of  his  coming,  because 
he  announced  his  intentions  with  regard  to  Swan  Creek  in  a 
letter  addressed  to  the  schoolmaster.  It  informed  me  that  he 
purposed  to  do  missionary  work  there,  and  a  notice  of  the  first 
meeting  was  enclosed,  which  he  asked  me  to  post  in  some  con- 
spicuous place.  Moreover,  he  left  it  to  me  to  find  the  place  for 
holding  the  meeting,  and  I  selected  the  parlor  of  the  Stopping- 
Place,  which  in  another  community  might  have  been  called  a 
hotel,  the  parlor  likewise  being  the  barroom  of  the  establish- 
ment. 

The  time  appointed  for  the  meeting  fell  on  a  Permit  Sunday, 
so  there  was  sure  to  be  plenty  of  persons  for  the  making  of  an 
audience ;  but  a  baseball  game  was  scheduled  for  that  day,  and 
I  appointed  the  time  for  religious  services  immediately  after 
the  game.  The  cowboys  were  disgusted  when  they  read  the 
announcement.     They  foresaw  that  their  Sunday  diversions 


RALPH   CONNOR  ^5 

would  come  in  for  criticism.  Who  invented  the  title  I  do  not 
know,  but  before  Moore  arrived  his  real  name  was  forgotten 
and  he  was  known  only  as  the  "Sky  Pilot."  This  was  soon 
abbreviated  to  Pilot,  and  he  was  seldom  addressed  or  alluded 
to  by  any  other  term.  His  appearance  was  as  much  against 
him  as  his  vocation;  for  he  was  slight  of  figure,  young  to  boy- 
ishness, and  easily  embarrassed. 

The  first  service  was  enough  to  dampen  the  ardor  of  an  older, 
more  experienced  missionary.  Perhaps  it  was  his  very  youth 
and  innocence  that  made  him  persevere.  The  men  were  in- 
clined to  interrupt  his  remarks,  and  would  have  behaved  much 
worse  than  they  did  if  the  Duke  had  not  restrained  them;  but 
at  the  end  of  the  sermon  they  took  to  arguing  with  the  boy 
on  the  subject  of  his  discourse,  and  Bruce,  with  his  university 
training  and  his  Scottish  pugnacity,  had  the  little  Pilot  sadly 
flustered.  When  the  dreadful  ordeal  was  over,  he  told  me 
sadly  that  he  could  not  understand  it.  Then  his  eyes  flashed, 
and  he  declared  that  he  knew  he  was  right;  men  could  not  be 
men  without  Him,  and  he  would  not  give  up  the  attempt  to 
lead  them  to  Him! 

It  seemed  a  hopeless,  pitiable  enthusiasm.  The  Noble 
Seven  laughed  at,  ignored,  or  despised  the  Pilot,  according  to 
each  man's  temperament.  One  day  a  ball  game  was  on,  and 
Bronco  Bill,  the  pitcher  for  one  side,  failed  to  appear.  Hi,  the 
catcher,  was  in  despair  when  somebody  ironically  suggested 
putting  the  Pilot  into  the  box.  The  Pilot  was  looking  on,  his 
face  expressive  of  puzzlement,  pain,  and  some  sort  of  longing. 
Hi  contemptuously  asked  him  whether  he  could  pitch,  and 
when  the  Pilot  admitted  that  he  could,  "  a  little,"  he  was  allowed 
to  try.  The  result  was  a  revelation  to  Swan  Creek.  Such  pitch- 
ing never  had  been  dreamed  of,  much  less  seen,  in  that  country. 
Nobody  could  hit  the  little  man's  curves  effectively.  He  couldn't 
do  very  well  at  the  bat  himself,  but,  having  got  to  first  base  on 
a  short  hit,  he  usually  made  home  by  clever  running  that  com- 
pletely outwitted  the  field  side.  Hi's  nine  won  the  game  by 
thirty-seven  to  nine,  or  some  such  overwhelming  score,  and 
the  Pilot  scored  relatively  for  his  own  standing  in  the  community. 

But  that,  of  course,  did  not  make  the  men  his  religious 
followers;  it  simply  established  him  higher  in  their  respect  for 


86  THE  SKY  PILOT 

him  as  a  man.  They  had  already  begun  to  Hke  his  enthusiastic 
way  of  telling  a  story,  and  he  had  made  more  than  one  heart 
ache  by  unexpectedly  reviving  past  memories  in  singing  a 
song;  but  it  was  not  till  Bruce's  misadventure  that  he  really 
won  them. 

Bruce  had  been  drinking  more  and  more  heavily.  The 
Pilot,  who  blinked  nothing  and  feared  nobody,  had  taken  the 
Duke  to  task  for  not  exercising  his  evident  influence  over  the 
Scotchman  to  make  him  more  temperate  in  his  habits,  and  had 
been  coldly  rebuffed  for  his  pains.  The  climax  came  at  a  meet- 
ing of  the  Seven,  when  Bruce,  very  drunk,  began  to  shoot 
the  lights  out.  The  others  hurried  to  places  of  safety,  but  the 
Duke  tried  to  get  Bruce's  revolver  away  from  him.  In  the 
scuffle  the  weapon  went  off,  and  an  ugly  hole  was  torn  in  the 
fleshy  part  of  Bruce's  arm.  The  wound  alone  was  not  danger- 
ous, but  Bruce's  general  condition  made  his  case  hopeless. 
He  went  into  a  delirium,  and  the  Duke  rode  over  to  my  shack 
to  get  me  to  take  my  bromides  to  the  sufferer.  I  returned  with 
him,  and  the  Pilot  accompanied  us  uninvited.  When  we 
arrived  at  Bruce's  cabin,  he  was  lying  on  his  bed,  singing  a 
hymn,  and  punctuating  the  stanzas  by  shooting  at  snakes  and 
demons.  Neither  the  Duke  nor  I  cared  to  enter  while  that 
fusillade  was  in  progress,  but  the  Pilot,  in  spite  of  our  appeals, 
went  to  the  door,  waited  until  a  shot  had  been  fired,  stepped 
in,  and  asked  interestedly,  "Did  you  get  him?" 

"No,"  said  Bruce,  "he  dodged  like  the  devil." 

"Then  we'll  smoke  him  out,"  said  the  Pilot,  and  began  to 
put  wood  in  the  stove.  He  talked  cheerfully  while  he  worked, 
assuring  poor  Bruce  that  wood  smoke  was  the  one  thing  demons 
feared,  and  in  short  order  he  had  water  boiling  and  tea  made. 
It  was  an  exhibition  of  courage  and  tact  that  completely  won 
the  Duke. 

"There'll  be  no  more  Permit  Sundays,"  he  whispered, 
and  he  kept  his  word,  with  the  exception  that  on  the  Permit 
Sundays  that  followed  the  Pilot  occupied  the  chair. 

All  night  long  the  Pilot  stayed  at  Bruce's  bed,  singing  to 
him,  telling  him  stories  of  the  old  country,  soothing  his  fears. 
The  Duke  galloped  away  for  a  doctor,  who  came  and  did  all 
that  a  doctor  could  do.    It  was  no  more  than  to  prolong  the 


RALPH  CONNOR  87 

man's  life  a  bit  and  make  the  end  a  little  easier,  perhaps,  though 
to  us  who  watched  it  was  patent  enough  that  Bruce's  pathetic 
lucidity  at  the  last  was  due  more  to  the  Pilot  than  to  medicines. 

The  Duke  stretched  his  hand  across  the  dead  man's  bed  and 
asl:ed  the  Pilot  to  pardon  him  for  his  former  rudeness. 

"Don't,"  was  the  Pilot's  reply,  almost  sobbing,  "I  can't 
stand  it." 

Another  conquest  awaited  the  Pilot — the  conquest  of  Gwen, 
much  more  difficult  than  that  of  Bruce  and  the  Duke.  Gwen 
was  the  only  child  of  the  first  settler  thereabout.  Her  mother 
had  died  when  she  was  little  more  than  a  baby,  and  she  had 
grown  up  unlettered  and  unrestrained,  a  daredevil  on  horse- 
back, a  tyrant  in  her  home.  Her  father,  Meredith,  had  no 
influence  over  her,  though  she  loved  him  deeply,  and,  as  in 
Bruce's  case,  the  one  human  being  she  bowed  to  was  the  Duke. 
It  was  only  the  Duke's  influence  that  induced  her  to  submit  to 
my  instruction  in  the  rudiments  of  learning,  and  even  he  could 
not  prevail  on  her  to  see  the  Pilot.  Old  Meredith  had  well- 
nigh  moved  out  of  the  country  because  of  the  Pilot's  coming, 
and  Gwen  shared  his  prejudice.  But  one  day  the  Pilot  tried 
to  ford  the  Swan  not  far  from  the  old  settler's  ranch.  His 
horse  was  unequal  to  the  task,  and  the  Pilot  would  have  drowned 
if  Gwen  had  not  used  her  lariat  cleverly  and  brought  him  to 
shore.  The  plain,  human  man  that  he  was,  and  that  it  took 
most  of  us  so  long  to  discover,  was  magnificently  displayed  in 
his  behavior  on  that  occasion.  He  was  nettled,  humiliated  to 
be  saved  by  a  girl!  She  gleefully  compelled  him  to  admit  that 
she  had  saved  him,  and  he  professed  gratitude  enough,  but, 
with  as  much  stubborn  spirit  as  she  herself  had,  he  declared 
that  he  could  make  the  ford,  and  what  was  more,  he  would; 
and  what  was  more  still,  he  tried  to,  in  spite  of  Gwen's  fright- 
ened warnings.  His  horse  came  ashore  again  after  a  furious 
struggle,  and  the  Pilot  was  "  all  in,"  but  Gwen  brought  him  to 
and  insisted  that  he  come  to  the  house  for  dry  clothes,  and  to 
wait  till  the  weather  was  more  favorable. 

The  Pilot  went  with  visible  unwillingness.  His  purely 
human  side,  which,  when  you  knew  it,  was  as  big  as  all  out- 
doors, was  crushed,  but  the  spiritual  side  came  to  the  rescue 
when  once  he  was  in  the  house  and  had  dry  clothes  on.    There 


88  THE  SKY  PILOT 

was  an  old  parlor  organ  there,  unused  since  the  death  of  Gwen's 
mother.  The  moment  the  Pilot  saw  it,  he  ran  to  it  uninvited, 
sat  down  and  went  to  singing  songs  to  his  own  accompaniment. 
This  was  entertaining  enough,  but  presently  we  were  amazed 
to  see  the  old  settler  crying.  Gwen  was  indignant,  but  "  Oft  in 
the  Stilly  Night,"  as  Meredith  chokingly  explained,  was  her 
mother's  song.  That  opened  the  way  to  the  bringing  forth  of 
her  mother's  Bible,  and  a  long  evening  of  reading  followed, 
broken  by  Gwen's  amazed  questions  and  the  Pilot's  elucida- 
tions in  quaint,  easily  comprehended  language.  The  Pilot 
thereafter  was  more  welcome  in  the  old  settler's  house  than  was 
the  schoolmaster;  but  Gwen  was  as  wilful  and  perverse  with 
him  as  she  had  been  with  me,  or  with  anybody.  He  tried  to 
teach  her  of  God's  omnipotence,  and  she  wouldn't  have  it. 
"I've  always  had  my  way,  and  I  always  will,"  she  cried.  He 
gravely  assured  her  that  the  time  would  come  when  she  could 
not  do  as  she  wished,  and  she  flouted  him.  Her  attitude  was 
nothing  short  of  a  challenge  to  the  Almighty. 

Within  a  week  the  test  came.  She  was  saving  the  life  of  an 
Indian  boy,  riding  with  him  before  a  stampede  of  cattle.  Her 
horse,  forced  to  the  edge  of  the  canyon,  refused  to  obey  the 
bridle  and  pounded  on  a  bit  of  turf  where  the  bank  bit  in. 
The  turf  collapsed.  Gwen  could  not  jump  for  safety  because 
she  clung  to  the  Indian,  and  they  all  went  down,  thirty  feet,  in 
a  heap.  The  Indian  was  the  only  one  unhurt.  Gwen  received 
such  injuries  that,  although  she  had  the  best  of  surgical  atten- 
tion, she  never  could  walk  or  ride  again. 

We  kept  this  sad  certainty  from  her  as  long  as  we  could, 
else  she  would  have  died ;  but  she  had  to  know  some  time,  and 
when  the  truth  was  told  her  rebellion  was  at  once  pathetic  and 
terrible.  Not  to  ride  again!  Why,  it  was  her  life!  She  would 
ride!  Nothing  should  prevent  her  from  getting  well.  Helpless 
on  her  cot,  suffering  frightful  physical  agony,  she  defied 
God. 

The  Pilot  dreaded  to  go  to  her.  We  told  him  he  was  the 
one  person  who  could  help  her,  and  he  turned  on  us  fiercely. 
We  were  all  to  blame.  The  fault  was  all  ours.  What !  because 
of  her  physical  wreck?  No!  No!  Because  her  spirit  was  so 
proud  and  ungovernable.     Had  we  not,  everyone,  from  her 


RALPH   CONNOR  89 

father  down,  always  yielded  to  her,  always  declared  that  her 
childish  tyrannies  were  pretty  ?  Had  we  not  done  every  mortal 
thing  fool  men  could  do  to  make  her  proud  and  perverse? 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  set  out,  with  apparent  reluctance, 
to  visit  the  sufferer.  Our  way  lay  through  the  canyon,  Owen's 
favorite  spot  in  all  the  world  she  knew.  She  never  could  ride 
there  again,  and  the  Pilot  groaned  at  thought  of  it.  "What 
can  I  say  to  her?"  he  cried  despairingly.  What  did  he  say? 
Why,  the  moment  he  was  in  her  room  he  burst  into  an  enthusi- 
astic description  of  the  canyon,  just  as  he  had  then  seen  it. 
With  his  vivid  word-painting  he  made  her  see  it,  till  her  eyes 
brightened  and  she  forgot  her  pain.  Day  after  day  he  called, 
and  always  his  talk  was  of  the  beauties  of  the  things  she  could 
not  again  see  with  her  own  eyes. 

Naturally  enough  the  time  came  when  there  was  a  reaction 
in  Owen's  spirit.  The  old  imperiousness  broke  forth,  and  she 
complained  of  God  that  He  had  afflicted  her.  She  asked  such 
questions  about  Ood's  goodness  as  children  will,  such  as  most 
of  us  find  unanswerable;  but  Owen  had  more  than  a  child's 
comprehension,  and  the  Pilot  more  than  most  men's  share  of 
prophetic  vision.  He  had  brought  her  that  day  a  handful  of 
flowers  plucked  in  her  canyon.  After  the  conventional  answers 
to  her  questions  had  failed  to  satisfy  her,  he  told  of  the  time 
when  there  were  no  canyons,  only  broad  prairies.  The  Master 
wished  to  see  flowers  growing  there,  and  the  prairies  told  him 
the  winds  carried  away  the  seeds  the  birds  dropped,  so  that 
none  would  grow.  Then  the  Master  smote  the  prairie  and  made 
a  terrible  gash  in  it,  so  that  for  long  the  earth  groaned  with 
pain;  but  the  Swan  poured  its  waters  along  the  wound,  and  in 
time,  when  the  birds  dropped  the  flower-seeds,  they  fell  where 
the  winds  could  not  reach  them.  They  fell,  too,  on  well-watered 
soil,  and  so  grew  and  flourished  in  all  their  beauty.  He  likened 
the  canyon  flowers  to  gentleness,  meekness,  and  self-control, 
and  Owen  understood  him. 

"But  there  are  only  ragged  rocks  in  my  canyon,"  she  said 
sadly. 

"They  will  bloom  some  day,"  he  assured  her.  "God  wiU 
find  them  and  we  shall  see  them." 

And  we  did,  for  Owen  gradually  grew  to  be  a  marvel  of 


90 


THE  SKY  PILOT 


patience — not  one  of  your  doleful,  resigned-because-she-had-to- 
be  kind,  uat  a  cheerful  sufferer  whom  it  delighted  you  to  visit, 
for  you  saw  how  much  pleasure  your  visit  gave  to  the  poor 
thing,  and  you  derived  as  much  if  not  more  good  from  it  yourself. 
The  Pilot's  hold  was  now  more  complete  on  the  cowboys  than 
on  the  professing  church  people  of  the  country.  They  would 
do  anything  for  him,  as  witness  their  endeavors  to  realize 
for  him  the  Pilot's  chief  ambition.  He  wanted  a  church  build- 
ing, but  the  amount  of  money  needed,  about  seven  hundred 
dollars  in  addition  to  labor,  seemed  to  be  out  of  proportion  to 
the  resources  of  the  district.  The  church  people  were  back- 
ward, more  than  hesitant,  and  the  Pilot  was  in  despair.  It 
was  then  that  Bronco  Bill  took  hold.  Bill's  attitude  toward 
Christianity  may  be  inferred  from  his  treatment  of  an  agnostic 
who  had  strayed  into  one  of  the  Pilot's  meetings.  He  was  a 
young  chap,  barely  out  of  his  tenderfoot  days,  and  he  ventured 
to  argue  with  the  Pilot  as  Bill  and  his  friends  had  argued  at 
the  first  meeting.  Several  times  Bill  called  him  to  order,  trying 
to  make  him  see  that  he  had  struck  a  false  note,  and  that 
doubters  of  the  Pilot's  doctrines  should  have  the  good  taste  to 
be  silent.  The  young  chap  wouldn't  take  the  hint,  and  Bill, 
exasperated  beyond  endurance,  yanked  him  out  of  doors,  where 
he  proceeded  to  make  him  "walk  turkey,"  up  and  down,  back 
and  forth,  in  the  snow,  until  Mr.  Agnostic,  utterly  exhausted, 
was  ready  to  cry  "Credo"  to  Calvinism,  Presbyterianism, 
Methodism,  or  any  other  "ism"  it  might  please  Bill  to 
nominate. 

Bill  took  hold  of  the  church  building.  He  told  the  regular 
church  people  that  if  they  would  put  up  two  hundred  dollars 
he  would  see  that  the  cowboys  supplied  the  other  five  hundred 
dollars.  This  was  regarded,  even  by  his  friends,  as  a  bluff,  and 
the  church  people  paid  no  attention  to  it.  But  Bill  meant 
business  and  knew  what  he  was  about.  He  got  at  the  cowboys 
of  the  region  just  after  they  had  been  paid  off,  and  in  his  un- 
couth but  effective  way  started  a  subscription.  This  soon 
amounted  to  a  good  fraction  of  the  total.  Then  he  had  recourse 
to  G wen's  assistance.  She  it  was  who  had  secretly  inspired  him 
to  make  the  "bluff,"  and  she  was  eager  to  contribute  her 
share.    As  she  never  could  ride  again,  she  asked  Bill  to  sell  her 


RALPH  CONNOR  91 

pinto  pony.  He  said  he  would  try,  and  by  a  horse-trading 
trick  he  hocus-pocused  the  Hon.  Fred  Ashley  into  paying 
one  hundred  dollars  for  a  forty-dollar  animal.  To  this  pur- 
chase-price he  secretly  added  fifty  dollars,  so  that  Gwen's 
contribution  was  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  In  such  ways 
he  raised  the  five  hundred  dollars,  and  the  regular  church 
people,  out  of  pure  shame,  had  to  put  up  the  rest. 

After  that  Bill  took  financial  charge  of  the  work  of  construc- 
tion, beating  down  the  lumber-dealers,  and  contriving  by  all 
means,  no  matter  how  they  smacked  of  sharp  practice,  to  get  the 
building  up  without  wasting  a  dollar  in  profit  to  anybody.  It  was 
the  Pilot's  hope  that  the  structure  could  be  completed  in  time  to 
open  it  for  services  on  Christmas,  and  this  was  accomplished; 
but,  most  unhappily,  the  dear  Pilot  himself  could  not  conduct 
the  first  service,  or  any  other,  in  it. 

We  had  not  noticed  it  until  near  the  end,  but  as  w^e  looked 
back  we  could  see  that  the  Pilot  had  been  failing  for  a  long 
time.  The  rigorous  life  of  the  foothills  had  not  hardened  him. 
Some  of  us  thrive  on  it;  others  are  so  constituted  that  it  kills 
them.  The  Pilot  sent  word  on  Christmas  morning,  from  Mere- 
dith's ranch,  where  he  had  been  ill  for  many  days,  that  he  could 
not  come  to  service,  and  that  Bill  must  open  the  church  for  him. 
It  was  a  task  that,  in  the  circumstances,  might  have  abashed 
even  a  clergyman;  Bill  would  have  run  from  much  less  if  it 
had  not  been  the  Pilot's  bidding.  There  had  to  be  a  psalm 
and  a  prayer.  We  managed  the  psalm  somehow,  but  the 
prayer !  Bill  asked  for  volunteers,  and  nobody  offering,  he  was 
compelled  to  attempt  it  himself. 

It  was  not  good  English;  it  had  not  even  Bill's  ordinary 
fluency  of  utterance;  in  his  very  opening  he  told  the  Almighty 
that  it  was  doubtless  "persoomin'  to  try  this  sort  o'  business"; 
but  it  was  comprehensible  to  us  as  a  passionate  appeal  that  the 
Pilot  might  be  spared  because  we  needed  him;  and  if  we  under- 
stood it  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  God  felt  the  full  force  of  it. 
At  the  end.  Lady  Charlotte  timidly  began  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
and  those  who  could  do  so  joined  in  it.  Then,  after  an  awk- 
ward pause.  Bill  said  abruptly,  "This  here  church  is  open. 
Excuse  me!"  and  rushed  to  his  horse,  that  he  might  go  to 
the  bedside  of  the  dying  Pilot. 


92  THE  SKY  PILOT 

It  was  not  in  the  Divine  plan  that  the  Pilot  should  preach 
in  the  church  that  had  been  built  in  the  main  by  those  whom  he 
had  conquered,  but  if  ever  a  man  preached  unceasingly  by  his 
influence,  Moore  did,  for  I  have  seen  evidence  of  it  whenever 
and  wherever  I  have  met  the  men  who  were  my  companions 
during  those  two  years  in  the  foothills. 


HUGH  CONWAY 

(FREDERICK   JOHN  PAROUS) 
(England,  184  7-1 885) 

CALLED  BACK  (1883) 

Although  this  is  not  the  only  novel  by  this  writer,  it  is  the  only  one  that  achieved 
any  renown.  It  had  so  extraordinary  a  success  for  a  time  that  it  outsold  every 
other  book  of  its  year,  and  went  through  many  editions,  later  being  di-amatized 
and  successfully  presented  on  the  stage. 

ILBERT  VAUGHAN,  a  rich  young  Londoner 
who  had  become  temporarily  blind,  strayed 
too  far  from  his  home  late  one  night  and  was 
obliged  to  request  a  somewhat  intoxicated  man 
to  guide  him  to  a  corner  of  the  square  on  which  he 
lived,  saying  that  he  could  trust  himself  to  find 
his  own  residence.  He  let  himself  in  with  his 
latch-key  and  ascended  the  stairs,  only  to  find 
that  he  was  in  a  strange  house  after  all.  He 
was  about  to  knock  on  the  door  of  a  room  from  which  came  the 
sound  of  conversation,  when  his  hand  was  arrested  by  a  wo- 
man's voice  singing  a  song  from  a  new  opera  which  he  had 
heard  on  the  Continent.  Suddenly  the  song  was  interrupted 
by  a  long,  deep  groan,  the  woman's  voice  shrieked,  and  the 
listener  heard  a  heavy  thud  on  the  floor. 

Vaughan  forgot  his  blindness  and  burst  into  the  room,  but 
stumbled  and  fell  upon  the  body  of  a  man.  Before  he  could 
rise,  his  throat  was  gripped  by  strong  hands  and  he  heard  the 
click  of  a  pistol.     Quickly  he  cried : 

"Spare  me!     I  am  blind!  blind!  blind!" 
The    moaning    continued,    and    Vaughan    heard    also    an 
excited   conversation   in   a  foreign   tongue  and   in   whispers. 
Then  he  was  conscious  that  his  eyes  were  being  tested.     Ap- 

93 


94  CALLED   BACK 

parently  satisfied  that  the  intruder  had  told  the  truth,  the  men 
questioned  him  closely  about  himself,  then  placed  him  in  a 
chair  with  his  face  to  the  wall  and  warned  him  against  speaking. 
What  followed  he  could  imagine  from  the  sounds  he  heard; 
undoubtedly  a  dead  body  was  being  disposed  of.  When  this 
work  was  completed  he  was  required  to  drink  an  aromatic  fluid 
which  was  placed  to  his  lips;  he  was  told  that  it  was  an  opiate 
and  would  not  harm  him,  and  that  he  might  choose  between  it 
and  a  pistol  whose  muzzle  was  placed  against  his  head.  He 
swallowed  the  draft  and  woke  the  next  morning  in  his  own 
bed,  having  been  found  in  a  police  station  by  his  nurse,  who  had 
missed  him  and  sent  out  a  general  alarm. 

The  experiences  and  sounds  of  that  dreadful  night  remained 
vivid  in  his  memory  long  after  he  had  recovered  his  sight.  He 
tried  to  forget  them  by  traveling  on  the  Continent  with  a  friend, 
but  he  did  not  succeed  fairly  until  with  his  restored  vision  he 
saw  in  a  Turin  church  a  girl  so  beautiful  that  he  could  think 
of  nothing  but  her  face.  He  haunted  the  church  without  ever 
seeing  her  again  in  that  place,  yet,  after  his  return  to  London, 
he  found  himself  one  day  face  to  face  with  her  in  the  street,  ac- 
companied by  an  old  woman,  apparently  a  servant  or  a  nurse, 
who  had  been  with  her  in  the  Italian  church.  He  followed 
them  to  their  lodgings,  secured  a  room  in  the  same  house, 
and  attempted  to  become  acquainted  with  the  girl.  But  his 
ardor  was  often  abated  by  a  puzzle;  the  young  woman,  who 
spoke  English  perfectly,  was  apparently  sane  but  seemed  to 
lack  intelligence.  She  exchanged  greetings  with  him  but  could 
not  converse  on  any  subject ;  she  was  apparently  as  ignorant  as 
an  infant. 

Nevertheless  Vaughan  resolved  that  she  should  be  his  wife. 
He  approached  her  through  her  nurse,  who  insisted  that  her 
mistress  was  "not  for  love  or  marriage."  Generous  bribes 
to  the  guardian  elicited  the  information  that  the  young  lady 
had  no  immediate  family  whom  the  young  man  could  ask  for 
her  hand.  Suddenly  mistress  and  maid  disappeared,  but 
within  a  few  days  Vaughan  received  a  call  from  an  Italian 
gentleman,  who  introduced  himself  as  Dr.  Ceneri,  uncle  and 
only  relative  of  the  beautiful  girl,  whose  name  was  Pauline 
March.     Vaughan  recalled  the  doctor's  face  as  that  of  a  man 


HUGH  CONWAY  95 

he  had  seen  conversing  with  Pauline's  maid,  or  nurse,  in  front 
of  the  ItaUan  church.  Ceneri  knew  of  Vaughan's  passion  for 
the  girl,  and  of  his  character,  means,  and  social  station ;  he  was 
willing  that  his  niece  should  marry,  but  talked  of  her  as  if  she 
was  a  mere  parcel  of  merchandise.  His  conditions  were  that  the 
marriage  should  take  place  within  forty-eight  hours,  as  he  him- 
self must  depart  immediately  on  a  very  long  journey;  he 
asserted  that  the  girl  was  well  born  and  virtuous,  but  insisted 
that  no  questions  should  be  asked  about  her  past. 

Vaughan,  who  had  no  family  or  relatives  to  consider,  and 
whose  infatuation  was  complete,  was  impatient  enough  to  prom- 
ise anything,  so  within  two  days  he  had  wedded  Pauline,  who 
manifested  neither  love  nor  aversion  for  him,  Vaughan  said 
of  her: 

"In  two  days'  time  I  had  learned  the  whole  truth — all  that 
I  might  ever  learn  about  Pauline.  The  reason  why  Ceneri  had 
stipulated  that  her  husband  should  be  content  to  take  her  with- 
out inquiring  into  her  early  life  was  clear.  Pauline,  my  wife, 
my  love,  had  no  past — no  knowledge  of  the  past!  Slowly  at 
first,  then  with  swift  steps,  the  truth  came  home  to  me.  Now 
I  knew  how  to  account  for  the  puzzled,  strange  look  in  those 
beautiful  eyes ;  knew  the  reason  for  the  indifference,  the  apathy 
she  displayed.  The  face  of  the  woman  I  had  married  was  fair 
as  the  morn;  her  figure  as  perfect  as  that  of  a  Grecian  statue; 
her  voice  was  low  and  sweet;  but  the  one  thing  which  animates 
every  charm — the  mind — was  missing,  as  much  missing  as  a 
limb  may  be  from  a  body.  Memory,  except  for  comparatively 
recent  events,  she  seemed  to  have  none.  Sorrow  and  delight 
she  seemed  incapable  of  feeling.  Unless  her  attention  was 
called  to  them,  she  noticed  neither  persons  nor  places.  She 
lived  as  by  instinct;  rose,  ate,  drank,  and  lay  down  to  rest  as 
one  not  knowing  why  she  did  so.  Perhaps  I  should  not  be  far 
wrong  in  comparing  her  mind  to  that  of  a  child ;  but,  alas,  it  was 
a  child's  mind  in  a  woman's  body,  and  that  woman  was  my 
wife!" 

Before  any  improvement  could  be  hoped  for,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  learn  the  cause  of  Pauline's  malady,  its  duration  and 
other  details,  so  Vaughan  went  in  search  of  Ceneri,  who  he 
had  reason  to  believe  resided  in  Geneva.     But  in  that  city  no 


96  CALLED   BACK 

one  had  heard  of  a  physician  of  that  name ;  strangely,  however, 
Vaughan  met  an  Italian,  named  Macari,  whom  also  he  had 
seen  in  front  of  the  Italian  church  where  he  had  first  beheld 
Pauline.  Through  him  he  found  the  doctor,  who  admitted  that 
he  had  not  treated  Vaughn  fairly,  but  confessed  that  he  had 
wished  the  girl  to  marry  rich,  for  he  had  himself  made  away 
with  her  fortune,  using  it  for  the  benefit  of  the  patriot  cause  in 
Italy  when  Garibaldi's  volunteers  fought  against  Austria  and 
for  Italian  unity.  But  of  Pauline's  peculiar  mental  condition 
he  would  only  say  that  he  believed  it  would  change  for  the 
better,  and  that  he  would  be  very  glad  to  know  of  such  a  change; 
of  its  cause  he  refused  to  say  anything.  Of  his  whilom  com- 
panion, Macari,  through  whom  Vaughan  had  traced  him,  he 
was  willing  to  say  that  he  too  had  aspired  to  Pauline's  hand 
and  heart — should  she  ever  show  real  intelligence. 

Vaughan  returned  to  his  wife  and  called  renowned  special- 
ists for  consultation,  but  all  insisted  that  they  must  know  the 
cause  of  her  malady  before  they  could  suggest  a  cure.  Macari 
called  to  ask  Vaughan's  assistance  in  getting  before  the  Italian 
government  a  petition  for  the  repayment  of  some  of  the  moneys 
advanced  by  patriots  for  the  uprising  that  had  created  the 
united  nation.  Incidentally  he  declared  that  he  was  in  reality 
Pauline's  brother,  not  her  suitor,  and  admitted  that  he,  like 
Ceneri,  was  a  political  conspirator  by  profession.  As  Italy 
needed  them  no  longer,  Ceneri  had  worked  against  the  Russian 
government,  had  been  detected,  convicted,  and  sent  to  Siberia. 

Vaughan  distrusted  Macari;  he  did  not  believe  him  to  be 
Pauline's  brother,  yet  he  permitted  him  to  call  frequently,  for 
he  alone  seemed  to  rouse  the  girl  from  her  lethargy.  He  paid 
very  little  attention  to  her,  yet  she  would  fix  her  eyes  on  him 
with  an  eager,  troubled  look  that  sometimes  suggested  fear; 
and  Vaughan  welcomed  any  expression  that  promised  the  dawn 
of  returning  reason.  One  night  while  Macari  was  recalling 
some  military  adventures  he  illustrated  a  hand-to-hand  contest 
by  seizing  a  knife  that  lay  on  the  table,  raising  it  in  air  and 
bringing  it  down  on  the  shoulder  of  an  imaginary  Austrian. 
Pauline  sighed;  her  eyes  closed;  she  had  fainted.  Vaughan 
removed  her  to  her  room,  and  Macari  departed  after  expressing 
concern.    Vaughan  returned  to  his  wife  to  find  her  still  insen- 


HUGH  CONWAY  97 

sible;  when  she  awoke  her  eyes  were  sightless,  and  she  appeared 
utterly  nerveless;  apparently  her  mental  condition  had  become 
worse  than  it  had  been  since  her  marriage. 

Suddenly  she  rose,  left  the  room,  and  went  out  of  the  house 
into  the  night.  Vaughan  snatched  a  cloak  to  throw  over  her 
and  followed  her;  then  he  walked  by  her  side,  but  she  did  not 
notice  his  presence.  She  walked  rapidly  as  if  knowing  where 
she  was  going,  nor  did  she  pause  until  she  was  stopped  by  the 
door  of  a  house  which  she  attempted  to  enter.  A  bill  on  the 
door  indicated  that  the  building  was  without  a  tenant;  so,  to 
humor  his  wife,  Vaughan  tried  the  latch-lock  with  his  own  key; 
to  his  surprise,  it  yielded,  as  another  lock  had  done  on  an  ex- 
citing night  many  months  before. 

Pauline  entered,  and  ascended  the  dark  stair  as  steadily 
as  if  familiar  with  it.  Vaughan  followed  her  through  the  dark- 
ness, and  as  she  crossed  a  landing  and  entered  a  room  he 
recalled  with  horror  that  the  position  of  stairs,  landing,  hall, 
and  room  was  identical  with  that  in  the  house  he  had  entered 
by  mistake  when  blind.  He  struck  a  pocket-light  and  looked 
about  him,  lighted  a  half-burned  candle  that  was  on  the  mantel- 
piece, and  gazed  at  his  wife.  She  was  excited;  her  fingers 
were  playing  convulsively  round  her  temples  as  if  she  were 
trying  to  conjure  back  some  thoughts  that  had  escaped.  Her 
husband  threw  open  folding-doors  at  the  rear  of  the  room  and 
saw  a  dust-covered  piano.  Under  the  spell  of  memories  of  the 
most  eventful  night  of  his  life,  he  struck  a  few  notes  of  the 
great  song  he  had  then  heard  in  England  for  the  first  time. 
What  followed  is  so  strange  that  it  must  be  described  in 
Vaughan's  own  words: 

"Pauline  came  toward  me  and  there  was  a  look  in  her  face 
that  made  me  wonder  and  fear.  She  seated  herself  on  the 
music-bench,  and  striking  the  keys  with  a  master  hand  played 
brilliantly  and  faultlessly  the  prelude  to  the  song  of  which  I 
had  struck  a  few  vagrant  notes.  I  was  thunderstruck,  for  never 
till  now  had  she  shown  the  slightest  taste  for  music.  But  after 
'  the  first  few  bars  my  astonishment  ceased.  I  was  even  prepared 
to  hear  Pauline  sing  as  faultlessly  as  she  was  playing;  with 
breathless  emotion  I  waited  till  the  song  came  to  the  very  note 
at  which  it  finished  when  once  before  I  listened  to  it.    I  was  so 

A.  D.,  VOL.  v.— 7 


98  CALLED   BACK 

fuUv  prepared  that  when  she  started  wildly  to  her  feet  with  a 
cry  of  horror  my  arms  were  round  her  in  a  moment.  To  her, 
as  well  as  to  me,  all  the  occurrences  of  that  dreadful  night  were 
being  reproduced.  The  past  had  come  back  to  Pauline — come 
back  at  the  moment  it  left  her!" 

Even  the  struggles  and  moans  of  that  awful  night  were 
repeated,  but  when  the  sufferer  became  calm  a  greater  wonder 
followed : 

"Call  it  what  you  like;  dream,  hallucination,  overheated 
imagination,  call  it  anything  but  invention;  I  shall  not  be 
annoyed.  This  is  what  happened:  I  held  my  wife's  hand  a 
few  seconds,  and  then  a  strange,  indefinable  feeling  crept  over 
me — the  kind  of  feeling  sometimes  experienced  in  a  dream 
in  which  two  persons  appear  and  the  dreamer  cannot  be  certain 
with  which  one's  thoughts  and  acts  he  identifies  himself.  The 
room  was  so  full  of  light  that  I  could  see  everything  it  contained. 
Round  a  table  in  the  center  were  grouped  four  men,  and  the 
faces  of  two  of  them  were  well  known  to  me!  Leaning  across 
the  table,  his  features  full  of  alarmed  surprise,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  an  object  a  few  feet  away  from  him,  was  Dr.  Ceneri,  Pauline's 
uncle  and  guardian.  The  man  who  stood  on  Ceneri's  right,  in 
the  attitude  of  one  ready  to  repel  a  possible  attack,  whose  face 
was  fierce  and  full  of  passion,  whose  dark  eyes  were  blazing, 
was  Macari.  He  also  was  looking  at  the  same  object  as  Ceneri. 
The  man  in  the  background  was  a  stranger  to  me;  he  was  look- 
ing in  the  same  direction,  and  the  object  they  all  looked  at  was 
a  young  man  who  appeared  to  be  falling  out  of  his  chair,  and 
whose  hand  grasped  convulsively  the  hilt  of  a  dagger,  the  blade 
of  which  was  buried  in  his  heart;  buried,  I  knew,  by  a  blow 
which  had  been  struck  downward  by  one  standing  over  him. 

"  All  this  I  saw  and  realized  in  a  second.  The  whole  scene 
was  taken  in  by  me  as  one  takes  in  with  a  single  glance  the 
purport  of  a  picture.  Then  I  dropped  Pauline's  hand  and 
sprang  to  my  feet.  Where  was  the  lighted  room  ?  Where  were 
the  figures  I  had  seen  ?  Where  was  the  tragic  scene  which  was 
taking  place  before  my  eyes?  Vanished  into  thin  air!  The 
candle  was  burning  dimly  behind  me;  Pauline  and  I  were 
the  only  living  creatures  in  the  place!" 

Again  and  again  he  called  up  that  phantasmagoria,  merely 


HUGH   CONWAY  99 

by  touching  Pauline's  hand.  He  studied  the  victim's  face 
closely;  it  was  a  very  handsome  one,  even  in  its  death- 
agony. 

"  Who  could  have  struck  him  down  ?  Without  doubt  Macari, 
who  was  standmg  nearest  to  him,  in  the  attitude  of  one  ex- 
pecting an  attack.  It  must  have  been  a  burning  desire  to  fathom 
the  mysteries  of  that  long-past  night,  the  wish  to  learn  exactly 
what  shock  had  disarranged  my  wife's  intellect,  the  hope  of 
bringing  the  criminal  to  justice,  which  gave  me  strength  to 
produce  and  reproduce  that  scene  until  I  was  satisfied  that  I 
knew  all  that  dumb  show  could  tell  me." 

Pauline  was  taken  home  unconscious;  the  next  day  and  for 
many  days  after  she  was  in  a  delirium  of  fever.  Macari  called, 
and  expressed  great  sorrow  and  sympathy.  Vaughan  bluntly, 
yet  with  careful  detail,  charged  him  with  the  murder,  and 
the  Italian  was  astonished  beyond  measure,  but  soon  he  told 
a  story  that  afterward  drove  Vaughan  almost  insane  with  sus- 
picion. The  victim,  he  said,  was  his  sister's — that  is,  Pauline's 
— lover,  after  the  worst  Italian  significance  of  the  word,  so  that 
the  family  honor  required  that  he  be  killed.  Vaughan  charged 
the  Italian  with  falsehood,  but  the  story  filled  his  mind  with 
dread,  for  was  not  Pauline,  in  her  delirium,  showering  loving 
words  on  some  one  with  whom  she  also  pleaded  sorrowfully  ? 
Who  could  or  would  tell  him  the  truth?  Apparently  no  one 
but  Ceneri. 

To  allay  his  own  fears,  and  to  clear  his  wife's  reputation, 
Vaughan  went  to  Russia  and  through  the  British  ambassador 
obtained  the  Czar's  permission  to  follow  Ceneri  to  Siberia, 
find  him,  and  question  him.  His  search  was  rewarded;  Ceneri 
made  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  affair.  The  slain  man,  not 
Macari,  was  Pauline's  brother;  Ceneri,  who  had  dissipated  his 
patrimony,  feared  him,  and  Macari  hated  him  for  having 
spurned  him  as  a  suitor  for  Pauline's  hand;  so  the  two  men  had 
conspired  to  get  the  youth  into  a  lunatic  asylum,  from  which  he 
would  probably  be  glad  to  purchase  freedom  by  favoring  Macari 
and  forgiving  his  defaulting  guardian.  But  a  scornful  outburst 
against  Macari  enraged  the  rejected  suitor  and  caused  him  to 
strike  the  fatal  blow;  Pauline,  who  was  in  an  adjoining  room 
at  the  piano,  heard  her  brother's  dying  groan,  and  when  she 


loo  CALLED   BACK 

recovered  from  the  temporary  madness  of  grief  the  action  of 
her  mind  and  memory  seemed  to  have  stopped  forever. 

Vaughan  hurried  back  to  England  and  found  Pauline  as 
rational  and  vivacious  as  she  y/as  beautiful;  she  was  glad  to  see 
him,  yet  she  seemed  not  to  know  that  she  was  his  wife.  Fearing 
to  unsettle  her  mind  anew,  he  was  unwearyingly  considerate, 
spending  much  time  with  her,  but  hardly  referring  to  their 
legal  relation  to  each  other.  As  time  went  on,  Pauline's  interest 
in  him  seemed  to  wane;  he  feared  she  did  not  love  him.  Rather 
than  annoy  her  with  his  presence  he  decided  that  he  would 
leave  her  forever ;  he  had  provided  her  with  a  good  home  and  a 
trustworthy  attendant,  so  that  no  harm  could  come  to  her. 

But  one  day  he  woke  suddenly  from  slumber  beside  a  brook 
and  found  Pauline  looking  at  him  with  something  in  her  eyes 
that  no  loving  man  could  fail  to  read  rightly.  Then  it  trans- 
pired that  she  had  remembered  and  loved  him  ever  since  her 
restoration  to  health;  she  had  hesitated  to  acknowledge  it 
because  she  feared  his  own  affection  had  been  killed  by  her 
inane  and  irresponsive  condition  in  the  earlier  days  of  their 
married  life,  before  she  had  been  "called  back." 


\noO 


.>" 


lOO 


CALLED  BACK 


recovered  from  the  temporary  madness  of  grief  the  action  of 
her  mind  and  memory  seemed  to  have  stopped  forever. 

Vaughan  hurried  back,  to  England  and  found  Pauline  as 
rational  and  vivacious  as  she  was  beauiiful ;  she  was  glad  to  see 
him,  yet  she  seemed  not  to  knoAV  that  she  was  his  wife.  Fearing 
to  imsetde  her  mind  anew,  he  was  unv'earyingly  considerate, 
spending  much  time  with  her,  but  hardly  referring  to  their 


legal  relation  to  each  other.    As  ti 
in  him  seemed  to  wane;  he  fearea 
than  annoy  her  with  his  presenci 
leave  her  foreAer;  he  had  provid* 
trustvvorthy  attendant,  so  that  n* 
But  one  day  he  woke  sudden; 
and  found  Pauline  looking  at  '•'. 
that  no  loving  man  could  fail  • 
pired  that  she  had  remembc 
restoration  to  health;    she 


•n.  Pauline's  interest 

ot  love  him.    Rather 

decided  that  he  would 

:;  a  good  home  and  a 

aid  come  to  her. 

mber  beside  a  brook 

'•■hing  in  her  eyes 

Then  it  trans- 

n  ever  since  her 

fo  acknowledge  it 

b'-en  killed  by  her 


because  she  feared  his  own 

inane  and  ?r9W^rf^i\^"?^i^'e.^raore  Cooper.: (p.. lo^J^.^  of  their 

marCWt"JiSferi(|»el0aJ^r8hft?hadu'i/CiJ'^'inJ?«s  proof,    shodini'  Cooper  as  he 
appeared  a!  the  zeniOi  o)   his  powers 


C^.  .  -^v^iv^ 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER 

(United  States,  1 789-1851) 
PRECAUTION  (1820) 

This  is  the  first  novel  written  by  Cooper — a  story  of  English  rural  life,  on 
the  model  in  vogue  at  the  time,  but  strange  to  the  romance-readers  of  the 
present.  The  scenes  alternate  between  the  hall,  the  rectory,  and  the  other 
upper-class  haunts  of  a  country  neighborhood,  and  the  characters  are  mostly 
drawn  from  the  nobility,  from  dukes  downward.  It  is  said  that  the  author, 
after  reading  an  English  novel,  declared  that  he  could  write  a  better  one  himself, 
and  at  the  suggestion  of  his  wife  made  the  attempt,  with  this  result.  It  was 
written  with  no  thought  of  pubUcation,  and  was  put  into  print  by  the  advice 
of  his  friend  Charles  Wilkes. 

IR  EDWARD  MOSELEY,  Bart.,  an  estimable 
and  wealthy  gentleman,  with  a  house  in  St.  James's 

Square,  London,  and  a  country  seat  near  B , 

lived  with  his  family  at  Moseley  Hall.  This 
family  consisted  of  a  son  John,  noted  as  a  sports- 
man, and  three  lovely  daughters,  Clara,  Jane, 
and  Emily.  Lady  Moseley,  an  estimable  woman 
with  few  failings,  whose  principal  aim  in  life 
was  to  see  her  daughters  comfortably  estabhshed, 
had  submitted  Emily  entirely  to  the  control  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  the 
sister  of  Sir  Edward,  who  had  lived  with  the  family  after  the 
death  of  her  husband,  General  Wilson,  who  left  her  a  large 
income.  An  attachment  had  long  existed  between  Clara 
Moseley  and  Francis  Ives,  only  son  of  Dr.  Ives,  the  rector 
of  the  parish,  and  the  two  families  waited  only  for  the  establish- 
ment of  the  young  man,  who  was  studying  for  the  ministry, 
to  perfect  the  union.  Dr.  Ives,  a  clergyman  of  deep  piety  and 
considerable  talents,  was  possessed,  in  addition  to  his  benefice, 
of  an  independent  fortune  in  right  of  his  wife,  the  only  child  of 
a  distinguished  naval  officer.  Both  he  and  Mrs.  Ives  were 
well  connected,  and  the  doctor  was  the  idol  of  his  parishioners. 

lOI 


I02  PRECAUTION 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Moselcy  Hall  was  an  estate  called 
the  Deanery,  the  property  of  Sir  William  Harris,  which  had 
been  lately  let  to  a  Mr.  Jarvis,  concerning  whom  there  was 
much  speculation  among  the  gentry.  It  was  ascertained  that 
he  was  a  retired  merchant  with  a  large  fortune,  whose  family 
consisted  of  an  ambitious  wife,  an  only  son  who  was  a  captain 
in  the  army,  and  two  daughters,  Sarah  and  Mary.  Visiting 
them  was  a  friend,  Colonel  Egerton,  a  nephew  of  Sir  Edgar 
Egerton  and  said  to  be  his  heir.  He  was  marked  by  an  easy 
and  polished  deportment  in  striking  contrast  to  that  of  Captain 
Jarvis,  and  was  apparently  a  gentleman,  but  seemed,  to  Emily's 
critical  eye,  to  exhibit  too  little  sincerity  to  be  agreeable. 

About  the  same  time  with  the  appearance  of  the  Jarvises, 
Sir  Edward  Moseley  was  visited  by  an  old  uncle  of  his  wife's, 
Mr.  Benfield,  a  bachelor  of  many  peculiarities,  who  openly 
declared  his  intention  of  making  the  children  of  Lady  Moseley 
his  heirs.  He  had  once  been  a  member  of  Parliament,  and  he 
was  never  tired  of  descanting  on  the  men  and  manners  of  that 
day.  At  a  dinner-party  at  the  rectory  soon  after  his  arrival, 
he  recognized  in  Mr.  Jarvis  a  gentleman  who  had  honestly 
restored  to  him  twenty  thousand  pounds  which  a  dishonest 
broker,  on  the  eve  of  failure,  had  diverted  from  Mr.  Benfield's 
account  to  satisfy  what  he  considered  an  honorary  debt. 

The  same  dinner-party  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of 
two  strangers,  an  old  gentleman,  emaciated  and  debilitated, 
who  leaned  heavily  on  the  arm  of  a  son  of  perhaps  twenty-five 
years,  whose  vigorous  health  and  manly  beauty,  added  to  the 
apparent  tenderness  with  which  he  supported  his  parent, 
struck  most  of  the  beholders  with  a  sensation  of  pleasure.  The 
doctor  and  Mrs.  Ives  rose  involuntarily  from  their  seats  and, 
standing  for  a  moment  in  astonishment,  advanced  and  greeted 
them,  the  rector  with  tears  coursing  down  his  cheeks  as  he 
looked  on  the  careworn  figure  before  him,  while  Mrs.  Ives 
sobbed  aloud.  The  two  were  shown  into  an  adjacent  room 
and  the  door  closed,  the  company  being  left  without  apology 
or  explanation.  When  Mrs.  Ives  returned,  she  apologized 
slightly  for  her  absence  and  at  once  turned  the  conversation  to 
the  approaching  Sunday,  when  Francis  was  to  preach. 

On  Sunday  the  same  father  and  son  whose  coming  had 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  103 

interested  the  guests  at  the  rectory  were  shown  into  the  pew  of 
Mrs.  Ives,  who  buried  her  face  in  her  handkerchief  as  they 
entered.  While  Francis  was  depicting  in  his  sermon  the  fehcity 
of  the  death-bed  of  a  Christian,  a  deep-drawn  sigh  drew  every 
eye  to  the  rector's  pew,  where  the  younger  stranger  sat  motion- 
less, holding  in  his  arms  the  lifeless  body  of  his  parent,  who 
had  fallen  that  moment  a  corpse.  The  almost  insensible  young 
man,  relieved  from  his  burden,  was  led  by  the  rector  from  the 
church.  The  body,  removed  to  the  rectory,  was  taken  away  at 
the  close  of  the  week,  accompanied  by  Francis  Ives  and  the 
attentive  son.  Dr.  Ives  and  his  wife  went  into  very  deep  mourn- 
ing, and  Clara  received  from  her  lover  a  short  note  acquainting 
her  with  his  intended  absence  of  a  month,  but  throwing  no 
light  on  the  affair.    An  obituary  notice  in  the  London  papers  of 

the  sudden  death  at  B ,  on  the  20th  instant,  of  George 

Denbigh,  Esq.,  aged  sixty-three,  was  supposed  to  allude  to  the 
rector's  friend. 

Not  long  afterward,  Mrs.  Jarvis  said  to  Lady  Moseley: 
"Pray,  my  lady,  have  you  made  any  discovery  about  this  Mr. 
Denbigh,  who  died  in  the  church?" 

"I  did  not  know,  ma'am,  there  was  any  discovery  to  be 
made." 

"They  could  not  be  people  of  much  importance,"  continued 
Mrs.  Jarvis.     "I  never  heard  the  name  before." 

"It  is  the  family  name  of  the  Duke  of  Derwent,  I  believe," 
dryly  remarked  Sir  Edward. 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  neither  the  old  man  nor  his  son  looked 
much  like  a  duke,  or  so  much  as  an  ofhcer  either,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Jarvis,  who  evidently  thought  the  latter  rank  the  dignity 
next  in  degree  below  nobility. 

"There  sat,  in  the  parliament  of  this  realm  when  I  was  a 
member,"  said  Mr.  Benfield,  "a  General  Denbigh.  He  and 
his  friend,  Sir  Peter  Howell,  the  admiral  who  took  the  French 
squadron  in  the  glorious  administration  of  Billy  Pitt,  afterward 
took  an  island  together." 

Clara  smiled,  as  she  ventured  to  say,  "Sir  Peter  was  Mrs. 
Ives's  father,  sir." 

"Indeed!"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "I  never  knew  that 
before." 


I04  PRECAUTION 

"But,  sir,"  interrupted  Emily,  "were  General  Denbigh  and 
Admiral  Howell  related?" 

"Not  that  I  ever  knew,  Emmy  dear.  Sir  Frederick  Den- 
bigh did  not  look  much  like  the  Admiral.  He  rather  resembled  " 
— bowing  stiffly  to  Colonel  Egerton — "  this  gentleman  here." 

"I  have  not  the  honor  of  the  connection,"  observed  the 
Colonel. 

A  month  later  Francis  Ives  received  from  the  Earl  of  Bolton, 
unsolicited  on  his  part,  the  desired  living  of  his  own  parish,  and 
he  and  Clara  were  quietly  married  at  the  altar  of  his  father's 
church  and  proceeded  at  once  to  Bolton  Rectory.  Jane  and 
Emily  acted  as  bridesmaids,  and  John  and  Colonel  Egerton  as 
groomsmen.  Lord  Chatterton,  who  had  been  expected  from 
London,  had  been  detained  by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  and  the 
Colonel,  appealed  to  at  the  last  minute,  kindly  consented  to  take 
his  place.  He  was  invited,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  dine  at  the 
Hall,  when  he  proved  so  kind  and  sociable  and  his  attentions  to 
Lady  Moseley  and  her  daughters  were  so  delicate  that  even 
Mrs.  Wilson  acknowledged  that  he  possessed  a  wonderful 
faculty  of  making  himself  agreeable,  and  she  began  to  think 
that  he  might  possibly  prove  as  advantageous  a  parti  as  Jane 
could  expect  to  secure. 

The  Chattertons  soon  after  came  to  Moseley  Hall.  The 
mother  of  Sir  Edward  was  a  daughter  of  this  family,  and  the 
sister  of  the  grandfather  of  the  present  lord.  The  connection 
had  always  been  kept  up  with  a  show  of  cordiality  between 
Sir  Edward  and  his  cousin,  though  their  manner  of  living  and 
their  habits  were  very  different,  the  baron  being  a  courtier  and 
a  placeman.  He  had  been  dead  about  two  years,  and  his  son 
found  himself  saddled  with  the  support  of  an  unjointured  mother 
and  unportioned  sisters.  The  honorable  Misses  Chatterton 
were  both  handsome.  The  elder,  Catherine,  had  been  a  favor- 
ite of  Jane's,  while  Grace  was  the  peculiar  friend  of  Emily 
Moseley. 

One  morning  Emily  and  Grace,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Wil- 
son and  Lord  Chatterton,  walked  to  the  rectory,  expecting  to 
meet  there  Francis  and  Clara,  who  had  promised  to  drive  over. 
Emily  entered,  glowing  with  exercise,  and  seeing  a  gentleman 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  door,  intent  on  a  book,  laid  her 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  105 

hand  affectionately  on  his  shoulder,  exclaiming,  "Where  is 
dear  Clara,  Frank?" 

The  gentleman  turned  suddenly  and  presented  to  her  aston- 
ished gaze  the  well-remembered  countenance  of  the  young  man 
whose  father  (Mr,  Denbigh)  had  died  in  the  church. 

"I  thought,  sir,"  said  Emily,  almost  sinking  with  confusion, 
"that  Mr.  Francis  Ives — " 

"Your  brother  has  not  yet  arrived,  Miss  Moseley,"  simply 
replied  the  stranger,  "but  I  will  tell  Mrs.  Ives  of  your  visit." 

He  bowed  and  left  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Ives  soon  entered, 
and  smilingly  said:  "You  found  the  room  occupied  I  be- 
lieve ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Emily,  laughing  and  blushing,  "I  suppose 
Mr.  Denbigh  told  you  of  my  heedlessness." 

"He  told  me  only  of  your  attention  in  calling  so  soon  to 
inquire  after  Clara,"  remarked  Mrs.  Ives,  who  was  called  from 
the  room  as  Denbigh  reentered.  The  latter  at  once  took  his 
place  among  the  guests,  no  introduction  passing  and  none 
seeming  necessary;  and  in  fifteen  minutes  the  little  party  felt 
as  if  they  had  known  him  for  years. 

"I  Hke  this  Mr.  Denbigh  greatly,"  said  Lord  Chatterton  as 
they  drove  from  the  door.  "There  is  something  strikingly 
natural  and  winning  in  his  manner." 

Colonel  Egerton,  who  now  appeared  to  be  almost  domesti- 
cated in  the  family,  was  again  of  the  party  at  dinner  and  later 
accompanied  them  to  visit  Francis  and  Clara  at  Bolton  Rectory. 
Denbigh  was  there,  and  Egerton  was  observed  to  start  as  he 
caught  sight  of  his  face  and  to  gaze  on  it  with  an  interest  that 
struck  Mrs.  Wilson  as  singular.  She  tried  the  experiment  of 
an  introduction.  Both  bowed,  and  the  Colonel,  who  appeared 
ill  at  ease,  said  hastily,  "Mr.  Denbigh  is,  or  has  been,  in  the 
army,  I  believe." 

Denbigh,  now  taken  by  surprise  in  turn,  cast  on  Egerton  a 
look  of  fixed  and  settled  meaning,  and  carelessly  replied : 

"I  am  yet;  but  I  do  not  recollect  having  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  Colonel  Egerton  on  service." 

"Your  countenance  is  familiar,  sir,"  replied  the  Colonel. 
"But  one  sees  so  many  strange  faces  in  a  campaign  that  they 
come  and  go  like  shadows." 


io6  PRECAUTION 

It  was  some  time  before  either  recovered  his  ease,  and 
many  days  ere  anything  like  intercourse  passed  between  them. 

One  day  the  ladies  of  the  Moseley  family,  together  with 
Egerton  and  Denbigh,  were  gathered  in  a  little  arbor  in  the 
park,  when  John  Moseley  and  Captain  Jarvis  returned  from 
hunting.  The  latter,  who  had  been  a  clerk  in  the  counting- 
room  of  Jarvis,  Baxter  and  Company  six  months  before  he  came 

to  B ,  and  had  never  held  a  gun  in  his  hand  before  he  entered 

the  army,  had  seldom  killed  a  bird.  He  had  a  habit,  very 
annoying  to  John,  of  shooting  at  a  mark  or  at  stray  crows  and 
hawks.  The  two,  on  approaching  the  arbor,  had  fired  o£E  their 
guns,  it  being  John  Moseley's  invariable  practice  on  coming 
home.  Complaining  of  thirst,  John  went  to  a  neighboring 
brook  to  drink,  while  Jarvis  joined  the  party  in  the  arbor.  His 
interruption  of  a  conversation  with  Jane  irritated  Colonel 
Egerton,  who,  knowing  the  Captain's  foibles,  pointed  without 
and  said: 

"There  is  one  of  your  old  enemies,  a  hawk." 

Jarvis  ran  out  with  boyish  eagerness,  and  in  his  haste 
caught  up  John  Moseley's  gun  and  loaded  it,  throwing  in  a 
ball  with  the  charge.  But  the  hawk  vanished  before  he  had  a 
chance  to  shoot,  and  Jarvis  replaced  the  gun. 

"John,"  said  Emily,  as  her  brother  approached,  "you 
were  too  warm  to  drink." 

"Stand  off,  sis,"  cried  John  playfully,  picking  up  his  gun 
and  pointing  it  at  her. 

"Hold!"  cried  Denbigh  in  a  voice  of  horror,  as  he  sprang 
between  John  and  his  sister,  "it  is  loaded!" 

He  was  too  late;  the  piece  was  discharged.  Denbigh, 
gazing  mournfully  at  Emily,  fell  at  her  feet,  while  Emily  sank 
in  insensibility  beside  him. 

Colonel  Egerton  alone  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  spring 
to  Denbigh's  assistance.  The  eyes  of  the  wounded  man 
were  open  and  fixed  on  Emily's  inanimate  form. 

"Leave  me.  Colonel  Egerton,"  he  said.  "Assist  Miss 
Moseley." 

Egerton  brought  water  from  the  brook  and  soon  restored 
Emily.  Denbigh  was  carried  to  the  house,  and  three  hours 
later  Dr.  Black,  surgeon  of  the  — th,  examined  the  wound.   The 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  107 

ball,  which  had  penetrated  the  right  breast,  was  easily  extracted, 
and  the  principal  danger  to  be  apprehended  was  from  fever. 
During  the  night  he  became  delirious  and  would  take  his 
medicine  from  no  hand  but  Emily's. 

"Mr.  Denbigh,"  said  Emily,  "you  will  not  refuse  me — me, 
Emily  Moseley,  whose  life  you  have  saved?" 

"Emily  Moseley!"  repeated  Denbigh.  "Is  she  safe?  I 
thought  she  was  killed — dead." 

On  the  second  morning  Denbigh  dropped  into  a  deep  sleeep 
from  which  he  awoke  with  his  mind  clear,  and  from  that  time 
his  recovery  was  rapid.  A  month  later  he  was  called  away  to  a 
review  of  his  regiment. 

Shortly  after,  the  Earl  of  Bolton  called.  He  had  been  at 
college  with  General  Wilson,  and  had  always  shown  to  his 
widow  much  of  the  regard  he  had  professed  for  the  husband. 
Sir  Edward  seized  the  occasion  of  the  Earl's  visit  to  express  his 
gratitude  for  his  kindness  in  giving  the  living  of  Bolton  to 
Francis,  "and  unsolicited,  too,  my  lord,  it  was  an  additional 
compliment." 

"Not  unsolicited,  Sir  Edward,"  replied  the  Earl.  "It 
was  my  cousin,  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss,  who  applied  for  it,  as  a 
favor  done  to  himself;  and  Pendennyss  is  a  man  not  to  be  re- 
fused anything." 

"Lord  Pendennyss!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilson.  "In  what 
way  came  we  to  be  under  this  obligation  to  Lord  Pendennyss  ?  " 

"  The  reason  he  gave  was  his  interest  in  the  widow  of  General 
Wilson,"  replied  he,  bowing  with  much  solemnity. 

"I  am  gratified  to  find  that  the  Earl  yet  remembers  us," 
said  Mrs.  Wilson.  "Are  we  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him 
soon?" 

"  A  letter  from  him  yesterday  said  he  would  be  here  all  next 
week,  madam." 

Meantime  Colonel  Egerton  had  been  unremitting  in  his 
attentions  to  Jane.  The  two  read  poetry  together,  and  Jane 
eagerly  encouraged  a  taste  which  afforded  her  delicacy  some  little 
coloring  for  the  indulgence  of  an  association  which,  in  her  es- 
timation, was  necessary  for  her  happiness.  But  one  night 
Mrs.  Wilson  overheard  at  a  ball  a  conversation  between  two 
elderly  gentlemen,  one  of  whom  had  asked  who  Egerton  was. 


io8  PRECAUTION 

"He  is  the  hopeful  nephew  of  my  friend  and  neighbor, 
Sir  Edgar  Egerton;  he  is  here  dancing  and  misspending  his 
time  and  money,  when  I  know  Sir  Edgar  gave  him  a  thousand 
pounds  six  months  ago,  on  express  condition  that  he  should  not 
leave  the  regiment  or  take  a  card  in  his  hand  for  a  twelvemonth." 

"He  plays,  then?" 

"Sadly;  he  is,  on  the  whole,  a  very  bad  young  man." 

"Mrs.  Wilson,  shocked  at  this  revelation,  felt  it  her  duty 
to  acquaint  her  brother  with  it  at  once.  Sir  Edward,  extremely 
uneasy  under  this  intelligence,  though  with  strong  hopes  of  the 
Colonel's  innocence,  acquainted  him  at  once  with  the  slanders 
and  begged  him  to  disprove  them  as  soon  as  possible.  The 
Colonel  assured  him  that  the  stories  were  entirely  untrue,  that 
he  never  played,  and  that  the  gentleman  who  had  circulated 
the  stories  was  an  old  enemy  of  his.  The  Baronet,  relieved  by 
his  explanation,  assured  him  that  if  he  could  convince  him 
that  he  did  not  gamble,  he  would  with  pleasure  receive  him  as  a 
son-in-law. 

The  next  morning  Colonel  Egerton  eloped  with  Mary 
Jarvis.  The  merchant  received  a  letter  in  the  afternoon, 
apologizing  for  his  course  and  excusing  it  on  the  ground  of  a 
wish  to  avoid  the  delay  of  a  license,  as  he  was  in  hourly  ex- 
pectation of  a  summons  to  his  regiment,  and  containing  many 
promises  of  making  an  attentive  husband  and  an  affectionate 
son.  The  fugitives  were  on  the  road  to  Scotland,  whence  they 
would  return  immediately  to  London.  Jane,  as  soon  as  she 
became  convinced  of  the  falsity  of  her  lover,  took  to  her  bed  and 
in  a  short  time  was  in  a  burning  fever.  The  outbursts  of  her 
grief  were  uncontrolled  and  violent.  Emily  took  the  opportunity, 
while  giving  the  poor  girl  some  refreshments,  to  infuse  in  her 
drink  a  strong  soporific,  and  she  lost  all  consciousness  of  her 
misery  in  a  temporary  repose.  Although  her  affections  had  sus- 
tained a  heavy  blow,  her  pride  had  received  a  greater,  and  for  a 
long  time  no  persuasion  could  induce  her  to  leave  her  room. 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  made  the  acquaintance  in  the  neighborhood 
of  a  certain  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  a  lady  of  Spanish  descent,  who 
lived  with  the  Dona  Lorenza,  the  widow  of  a  Spanish  sub- 
altern officer,  whom  she  had  taken  under  her  protection.  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald  had  told  her  story  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  who  repeated  it 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  109 

to  Emily  on  the  ride  home.  It  seems  that  her  father,  the  Conde 
d'Alzada,  had  immured  her  in  a  convent  because  she  would 
not  abjure  the  Protestant  religion.  A  general  battle  between 
Napoleon's  troops  and  the  British  filled  the  dormitories  of  the 
convent  with  wounded  British  officers.  Chance  threw  into  the 
immediate  charge  of  Julia  a  Major  Fitzgerald,  a  strikingly 
handsome  man,  whose  recovery  was  due  rather  to  her  careful 
nursing  than  to  science.  That  love  should  result  from  this 
association  was  not  wonderful;  the  two  were  married  by  the 
chaplain  of  the  brigade,  and  for  a  month  were  happy.  Shortly 
afterward,  in  a  skirmish  during  a  retreat.  Major  Fitzgerald  was 
mortally  wounded.  An  English  officer,  the  last  to  leave  the 
field,  was  attracted  by  the  sight  of  a  woman  weeping  over  the 
body  of  a  fallen  man,  and  approached  them.  In  a  few  words 
Major  Fitzgerald  explained  the  situation  to  this  gentleman 
and  exacted  from  him  a  pledge  to  return  his  Julia,  in  safety,  to 
his  mother  in  England. 

After  the  interment  of  her  husband's  body  Mrs.  Fitzgerald 
remained  a  month  in  the  neighborhood,  uninterrupted  by 
anything  but  the  hasty  visits  of  her  protector,  which  became 
more  and  more  frequent.  At  last  he  announced  his  departure 
for  Lisbon,  on  his  way  to  England.  A  small  covered  vehicle, 
drawn  by  one  horse,  was  procured  and  they  set  out,  the  officer 
promising  to  procure  her  a  woman  attendant  in  the  city.  The 
officer's  manners  sensibly  altered  as  they  went  on,  and  on  the 
last  day  of  their  weary  ride,  while  passing  through  a  wood,  he 
offered  her  personal  indignities.  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  sprang  from 
the  vehicle  and  by  her  cries  attracted  the  notice  of  an  officer  who 
was  riding  express  on  the  same  road.  He  advanced  to  her 
assistance  at  speed,  when  a  shot  fired  from  the  carriage  brought 
down  his  horse,  and  the  treacherous  friend  escaped  undetected. 
He  had  succeeded  in  driving  on  a  short  distance,  when  he  had 
detached  the  horse,  and  ridden  away.  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  found 
that  her  deliverer  was  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss,  who  procured  for 
her  every  comfort  and  respect  which  his  princely  fortune,  high 
rank,  and  higher  character  could  command.  A  packet  was  in 
waiting  for  the  Earl,  and  they  proceeded  in  her  to  England 
accompanied  by  Dona  Lorenza.  The  mother  of  Fitzgerald  was 
dead,  and  Julia  found  herself  alone  in  the  world.    Her  husband 


no  PRECAUTION 

had  made  a  will  in  season,  and  his  widow,  through  the  assistance 
of  the  Earl,  was  put  in  quiet  possession  of  a  little  independency. 

A  few  days  after  this  narration  Mrs.  Wilson,  while  driving 
with  Denbigh,  suggested  that  he  should  go  with  her  to  visit 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  but  to  her  surprise  he  hesitated  and  soon  after 
desired  her  to  permit  him  to  stop  the  carriage,  as  he  felt  unwell. 
He  earnestly  requested  her  to  proceed  without  him,  saying  that 
he  would  walk  back  to  the  house.  Lovesick,  thought  Mrs. 
Wilson,  who  expected  that  Emily  would  have  an  important 
communication  for  her  on  her  return.  When  Mrs.  Wilson 
reached  Mrs.  Fitzgerald's  she  found  that  lady  much  perturbed 
by  the  appearance  the  day  before  of  the  wretch  whose  treachery 
to  her  dying  husband's  request  had  caused  her  so  much  alarm 
in  Spain.  He  assured  her  that  he  loved  her  and  her  alone; 
that  he  was  about  to  be  married  to  a  daughter  of  Sir  Edward 
Moseley,  but  would  give  her  up,  fortune  and  all,  if  Julia  would 
consent  to  become  his  wife.  To  escape  his  importunities  she 
had  run  to  ring  the  bell,  and  in  his  endeavor  to  prevent  her  he 
had  dropped  a  pocket-book,  which  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  gave  to 
Mrs.  Wilson,  requesting  her  to  return  it  to  its  owner.  She 
had  heard  that  morning  that  a  certain  Colonel  Egerton,  sup- 
posed to  be  engaged  to  one  of  Sir  Edward's  daughters,  had 
eloped  with  another  lady;  and  she  now  did  not  doubt  that 
Egerton  was  her  persecutor. 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  driven  half-way  home  before  it  occurred 
to  her  that  Egerton' s  responsibility  in  the  matter  would  prob- 
ably be  solved  by  an  examination  of  the  pocket-book.  She 
took  it  from  her  bag  and  opened  it,  and  was  almost  overcome 
when  letters  addressed  to  George  Denbigh,  Esq.,  dropped  from 
it,  in  the  well-known  handwriting  of  Dr.  Ives.  Then  the 
truth  broke  upon  her  in  a  flood  of  hght:  Denbigh's  aversion 
to  speak  of  Spain,  his  evident  displeasure  at  the  name  of 
Pendennyss,  his  unwillingness  to  visit  Mrs.  Fitzgerald — all 
were  explained. 

Mrs.  Wilson  at  once  made  known  her  discovery  of  Den- 
bigh's worthlessness  to  Emily,  with  the  result  that  that  young 
lady,  Hke  her  sister  Jane  in  a  similar  situation,  lost  consciousness 
and  took  to  her  bed.  Denbigh,  unable  to  see  her  personally, 
made  her  an  offer  of  his  heart  and  hand  by  letter,  which  Emily 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  iii 

declined  in  a  brief  note,  and  Denbigh  departed,  determined  to 
assuage  his  grief,  hke  most  characters  in  novels,  by  travel. 

The  situation  was  furthur  complicated  soon  after  when 
Mrs.  Wilson  read  in  a  newspaper  a  notice  of  the  marriage  by 
special  license,  at  the  seat  of  the  Most  Noble  the  Marquis  of 
Eltringham,  in  Devonshire,  by  the  Right  Rev.  Eord  Bishop  of 

,  of    "George  Denbigh,  Esq.,  Lieutenant-colonel  of  His 

Majesty's  — th  regiment  of  dragoons,  to  the  Right  Honorable 
Lady  Laura  Stapleton,  eldest  sister  of  the  Marquis." 

Mrs.  Wilson  felt  an  indescribable  shock  as  she  read  this 
paragraph,  her  strongest  feeling  being  one  of  horror  at  the  danger 
Emily  had  run  of  contracting  an  aUiance  with  such  a  man. 
Yet  how  he  had  been  able  to  win  a  woman  like  Lady  Laura 
Stapleton  in  the  short  space  of  a  fortnight  was  a  mystery  yet  to 
be  solved.  Meanwhile  the  Jarvises  had  gone  to  London  to 
receive  their  children,  Egerton  and  his  wife  having  been  ad- 
mitted into  the  family.  Sir  Edgar  had  died  suddenly  and  the 
colonel,  now  Sir  Harry,  had  succeeded  to  the  entailed  estates, 
though  the  bulk  of  Sir  Edgar's  wealth  had  been  left  by  will  to 
another  nephew.  Mr.  Jarvis  had  also  become  Sir  Timothy 
Jarvis,  Bart.,  which  Lady  Jarvis  softened  into  Sir  Timo.  But 
the  family,  notwithstanding  its  wealth,  was  not  well  received 
in  the  county,  and  Lady  Jarvis  fretted  until  she  persuaded  Sir 
Timo  to  give  up  the  lease  of  the  Deanery  and  to  take  a  house 
in  another  part  of  the  kingdom.  Sir  William  Harris  thereupon 
offered  the  Deanery  for  sale,  and  it  was  bought  at  once  by  the 
Earl  of  Pendennyss. 

The  Moseleys  were  in  town,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Emily 
were  at  Lady  Chatterton's,  when  conversation  turned  on  this 
purchase. 

"He  offered  the  Deanery  to  George  Denbigh  for  the  next 
summer,"  said  Lady  Chatterton,  "but  the  Colonel  chose  to  be 
nearer  Eltringham." 

"Is  Colonel  Denbigh  in  town?"  asked  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  an 
anxious  glance  at  Emily,  who  sensibly  changed  color. 

Just  then  came  a  summons  at  the  door,  and  a  gentleman 
was  shown  in.  It  was  Denbigh.  He  stood  a  moment  fixed 
as  a  statue.  His  face  was  pale,  but  the  pallor  was  rapidly  suc- 
ceeded by  a  glow.     He  approached  them  and  said: 


112  PRECAUTION 

"  I  am  happv,  very  happy,  to  be  so  fortunate  in  again  meeting 
with  such  friends,  and  so  unexpectedly." 

Mrs.  Wilson  bowed  in  silence,  and  Emily  sat  with  her  eyes 
fastened  on  the  carpet. 

Denbigh  arose  from  the  chair  he  had  taken  and  drawing 
near  them  said,  with  fervor:  "Tell  mc,  dear  madam  and  lovely 
Miss  Moseley,  has  one  act  of  folly  lost  me  your  good  opinion 
forever?  Derwent  gave  me  hopes  that  you  yet  retained  some 
esteem  for  my  character." 

"The  Duke  of  Derwent?     Mr.  Denbigh!" 

"Do  not  use  a  name,  dear  madam,  almost  hateful  to  me," 
cried  he  in  a  tone  of  despair.  "Call  me  by  my  title — do  not 
remind  me  of  my  folly!" 

"Your  title!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilson,  while  Emily  gazed  on 
him  with  astonishment.  "For  the  sake  of  truth,  for  my  sake, 
for  the  sake  of  this  suffering  innocent,  say,  in  sincerity,  who  and 
what  you  are!" 

"I  am  the  pupil  of  your  late  husband,  the  companion  of  his 
dangers,  the  sharer  of  his  joys  and  griefs,  and  would  I  could 
add,  the  friend  of  his  widow.     I  am  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss." 

Mrs.  Wilson  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  burst  into 
a  flood  of  tears,  and  Emily  fell  senseless  on  the  sofa. 

With  this  key  to  the  situation,  the  rest  is  easily  explicable. 
George  Denbigh,  son  of  George  Denbigh,  Esq.,  cousin-german 
to  Frederick,  the  ninth  Duke  of  Derwent,  was  Earl  of  Penden- 
nyss in  the  right  of  his  mother,  late  Countess  of  Pendennyss. 
George  Denbigh,  Lieutenant-colonel  of  the  — th  dragoons, 
who  married  Lady  Laura  Stapleton,  was  the  earl's  cousin.  Why 
the  earl  preferred  to  pass  as  an  incognito  among  his  best  friends, 
and  how  he  v/as  enabled  to  do  so  among  many  who  must  have 
known  him,  is  left  to  the  reader  to  unravel. 

Colonel  Egerton,  who  was  of  course  the  villain  of  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald's  story,  received  his  just  deserts  at  Waterloo,  where 
he  was  saved  from  instant  death  at  the  hands  of  a  French 
cuirassier  by  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss,  but  subsequently  died  of 
his  wounds.     Emily  and  the  Earl  were  happily  married. 


THE  SPY  (1821) 

In  writing  The  Spy,  his  second  novel,  Cooper  was  influenced  by  a  wish  to 
set  himself  right  with  his  critics.  His  first  book  had  been  criticized  severely  be- 
cause he  drew  his  scenes  and  characters  from  abroad  and  wrote  in  what  was 
thought  to  be  an  unpatriotic  vein.  The  author,  who  had  been  a  midshipman 
in  the  navy,  felt  this  keenly  and  determined  to  WTite  a  book  which  should  deal 
entirely  with  American  affairs  and  breathe  the  very  spirit  of  patriotism.  The 
result  was  The  Spy,  which  achieved  an  immediate  success.  Yet  Cooper  him- 
self had  been  doubtful  of  the  success  of  the  work,  and  the  first  volume  was  in 
type  before  he  could  be  induced  to  begin  the  second.  It  was  the  first  American 
novel  to  achieve  a  wide  circulation,  and,  taking  into  consideration  the  small  popu- 
lation of  the  country  at  the  time  of  its  publication,  few  have  surpassed  it  since. 


HEN  the  war  between  King  George  III  and  his 
American  Colonies  broke  out,  no  man  was  more 
concerned  and  perplexed  than  Mr.  Wharton, 
a  wealthy  citizen  of  New  York.  His  one  desire 
was  to  conserve  his  own  interests  and  to  afhliate 
himself  with  the  winning  side.  Being  quite 
unable  to  guess  which  side  would  hold  that  en- 
viable position,  he  decided  finally  to  retire  to  The 
Locusts,  his  country-house  in  Westchester,  to 
await  events.  Accordingly,  he  removed  there  with  his  two 
motherless  daughters  and  their  spinster  aunt.  Miss  Peyton. 

Westchester  County  was  then  a  wild  and  beautiful  country, 
nearly  a  day's  journey  from  the  city.  By  retreating  to  its  loneli- 
ness, Mr.  Wharton  gained  freedom  from  embarrassing  com- 
plications; but  he  gained  no  peace.  From  without,  the  peace 
of  The  Locusts  was  threatened  by  both  sides;  for  Westchester, 
lying  between  the  American  and  the  British  lines,  was  termed 
"the  neutral  ground,"  and  was  overrun  by  the  Cowboys, 
plundering  in  the  name  of  the  King,  and  the  Skinners,  robbing 
in  the  name  of  Congress. 

Within,  The  Locusts  was  a  house  divided  against  itself. 
Sarah,  the  elder  daughter,  was  a  stanch  Tory  and  had  given  her 
heart  to  Colonel  Wellmcrc  of  His  Majesty's  Household  Troops; 
A.D.,  VOL.  v. — 8  113 


114  THE   SPY 

Frances  was  devoted  to  the  cause  of  the  Colonies  and  had 
bestowed  her  love  on  Miss  Peyton's  nephew,  Major  Peyton 
Dunwoodie  of  the  Virginia  Horse,  under  Washington;  and 
their  brother,  Henry  Wharton,  was  an  officer  in  the  royal  army. 

One  evening  as  a  great  storm  was  gathering,  a  horseman 
rode  up  to  The  Locusts  and  asked  shelter.  He  was  a  man  of 
striking  appearance,  tall  and  large  of  frame,  plainly  military 
in  bearing,  and  with  a  serene  and  commanding  countenance 
that  compelled  instinctive  deference. 

He  gave  his  name  as  Harper  and  spoke  as  little  as  courtesy 
would  permit,  but  listened  with  keen  interest  to  the  fervent 
discussion  on  the  war  between  the  two  beautiful  girls.  This 
was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  two  other  travelers,  one  of  whom 
threw  Mr.  Wharton  and  his  family  into  manifest  trepidation, 
desperately  as  all  tried  to  appear  at  ease.  This  stranger  had  the 
appearance  of  an  old  man,  but  his  impetuous  action  and  speech 
belied  his  looks. 

The  second  of  the  arrivals  was  Harvey  Birch,  a  pedler 
in  ostensible  calling,  but  notorious  as  a  royalist  spy,  who  had 
been  captured  several  times  by  the  Americans,  yet  escaped 
mysteriously  each  time,  so  that  a  price  was  set  on  his  head. 

At  the  sight  of  Mr.  Harper  the  pedler  started  in  evident 
astonishment,  but  recovered  himself  instantly;  and  a  quick 
look  of  intelligence  passed  between  the  two — a  look  on  the  ped- 
ler's  part  full  of  respect.  After  making  a  few  hurried  sales  to 
the  young  ladies  he  departed  hastily. 

Hardly  had  he  gone  when  Mr.  Harper  said  to  the  other 
guests: 

"If  any  apprehension  of  me  induces  Captain  Wharton  to 
maintain  his  disguise,  I  wish  him  to  be  undeceived.  Had  I 
motives  for  betraying  him  they  could  not  operate  under  present 
circumstances." 

The  disguised  man  was,  indeed,  Henry  Wharton. 

The  women  were  pale  from  fright,  but  young  Wharton, 
crying,  "I  believe  you!"  tore  off  his  disguise  with  a  light 
laugh. 

The  storm  ended  soon  afterward,  and  Mr.  Harper  departed, 
not,  however,  without  warning  the  Captain  that  his  visit  in  dis- 
guise was  a  dangerous  proceeding,  which  might  yet  involve 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  115 

him  in  grave  peril;  and  he  added  that,  should  this  be  the  case, 
he  might  be  able  to  render  Wharton  valuable  service. 

Scarcely  had  the  mysterious  stranger  departed  when  there 
was  a  thunder  of  hoofs  and  a  clanking  of  sabers,  and  the  house 
was  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  party  of  Virginia  Horse,  under 
Captain  Lawton.  Captain  Wharton  was  taken  prisoner,  and, 
being  in  disguise,  was  charged  with  being  a  royalist  spy. 

In  the  midst  of  the  distracted  family's  despair  Major  Dun- 
woodie,  who  had  followed  hard  on  the  heels  of  his  troop,  en- 
tered the  house,  to  be  received  with  acclamations  of  delighted 
relief.  But  the  demonstrations  only  served  to  render  more 
hard  the  part  he  had  to  play — a  part  made  doubly  dreadful  by 
his  realization  of  the  terrible  danger  in  which  stood  his  cousin 
and  prospective  brother-in-law.  He  himself  believed  Henry's 
statement  that  his  sole  object  had  been  to  visit  his  family;  but 
he  saw  too  clearly  that  the  court-martial  would  give  little  heed 
to  this  story.  Frances,  who  had  thought  nothing  except  that 
Major  Dunwoodie  would  liberate  her  brother  instantly,  saw  her 
mistake,  and  poured  on  the  American  a  torrent  of  tears,  remon- 
strance, broken  reproach,  and  piteous  entreaty  which  tortured 
the  young  soldier's  soul. 

Then,  growing  suddenly  calm,  she  said:  "Peyton  Dun- 
woodie, I  have  promised,  when  peace  shall  be  restored  to  our 
country,  to  become  your  wife.  Give  my  brother  his  liberty, 
and  I  will  go  with  you  this  day  to  the  altar,  follow  you  to  the  camp, 
and,  in  becoming  a  soldier's  bride,  learn  to  endure  a  soldier's 
privations!" 

"Say  no  more,  Frances,"  cried  the  young  officer,  pacing  the 
room  in  agony.  "Say  no  more  unless  you  wish  to  break  my 
heart." 

"Then  you  reject  my  hand?"  said  Frances;  and  rising 
with  pale  cheek  and  quivering  lip  she  left  the  room. 

Dunwoodie  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.  But  in  a  moment  the  blast  of  a  trumpet  tore 
the  air  and  the  despairing  lover  sprang  to  his  feet,  eager 
for  battle.  Vedettes  raced  in  with  horses  afoam  to  report 
royal  troops  coming  up  the  valley;  and  at  the  head  of  his  dra- 
goons the  young  officer  dashed  away  to  meet  the  soldiery  of 
King  George.     In  the  soul  of  Frances  then  love  overswept  all 


ii6  THE   SPY 

other  thoughts,  and  she  could  not  repress  a  cry  of  joy  when,  on 
the  return  of  the  victorious  Americans  bearing  their  wounded 
and  their  prisoners,  she  learned  that  Dunwoodie  was  uninjured. 
But  once  assured  of  the  young  man's  safety,  she  resumed  a  cold- 
ness of  demeanor  toward  him  which  went  straight  to  his  heart, 
and  he  rode  away,  a  sad  man,  in  the  gloom  of  night  toward  the 
•post  which  he  had  established  at  the  Four  Comers,  two  miles 
above  the  home  of  Mr.  Wharton. 

At  The  Locusts  there  was  a  new  complication.  For  among 
the  prisoners  brought  in  by  the  Americans  was  Colonel  Wellmere, 
whose  appearance  was  hailed  by  Sarah  Wharton  with  mingled 
joy  and  sorrow — sorrow  at  seeing  the  man  she  loved  wounded 
and  a  prisoner,  and  joy  at  being  once  more  in  his  presence. 

Though  the  wound  of  the  Colonel  was  slight,  he  was  too 
much  chagrined  by  his  defeat  and  capture  to  resume  his  love- 
making  with  the  ardor  he  had  shown  in  New  York;  but  Sarah's 
devotion  for  her  mature  admirer  had  suffered  no  abatement. 
Dunwoodie  had  accepted  Colonel  Wellmere's  parole  that  he 
would  remain  at  The  Locusts  until  his  exchange,  for  which 
negotiations  were  at  once  set  on  foot;  and  Henry  Wharton 
also  had  been  bound  by  a  solemn  promise  to  remain  a  prisoner 
in  his  father's  house  until  such  time  as  the  detachment  should 
retire  up  the  river,  taking  him  with  them.  Captain  Lawton 
himself  returned  with  severe  bruises  received  in  an  attempt 
to  capture  Harvey  Birch  after  the  fight.  The  Captain  had 
sighted  the  spy  hovering  about  and  had  jumped  his  horse  over 
a  stone  wall  in  pursuit,  but  the  animal  stumbled  and  pinned 
his  rider  beneath  him.  Yet,  much  to  the  Captain's  amazement, 
the  spy,  though  thus  having  his  enemy  at  his  mercy,  turned 
quietly  away,  leaving  the  American  unattacked. 

The  next  few  days  were  busy  and  eventful  ones  at  The 
Locusts.  A  new  beauty  was  added  to  the  household  in  the  form 
of  Isabella  Singleton,  who  had  been  summoned  to  nurse  her 
brother,  one  of  the  American  wounded.  She  was  a  Southern 
girl,  with  hair  of  raven  blackness,  a  complexion  of  dazzling 
purity,  and  dark  eyes,  which  were  dreamy  yet  full  of  fire. 

One  night  Frances  went  into  her  room  unexpectedly  and 
found  the  girl  rapturously  kissing  a  miniature  of  Peyton  Dun- 
woodie.    Frances,    already    sorely    distressed    because    Dun- 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  117 

woodie  had  not  once  visited  The  Locusts  since  the  night  of  their 
quarrel,  lost  all  hope  and  felt  that  everything  for  her  was  at 
an  end.  She  felt  that  the  proud  Southern  beauty  would  not 
bestow  her  love  unsought;  and  she  attributed  the  Major's 
absence  to  his  natural  disinclination  to  meet  together  two 
women  to  whom  he  had  paid  court.  Now,  she  thought,  she 
could  understand  why  he  had  not  acceded  to  her  prayers  in 
behalf  of  her  brother  and  why  he  had  rejected  her  offer  of 
marriage,  the  thought  of  which  filled  her  with  shame. 

The  little  garrison  at  the  Four  Comers  was  surprised  at  this 
time  by  the  appearance  of  a  party  of  Skinners  bearing  captive 
the  spy  Harvey  Birch,  and  claiming  the  reward  for  his  capture. 
They  had  taken  him  in  his  house  and  burned  it  before  his  eyes. 
Dun  woodie  delegated  the  task  of  paying  the  Skinners  to  Captain 
Law^ton,  which  he  did  in  an  orchard  remote  from  the  post  and 
surrounded  by  his  dragoons.  Then  he  called  to  his  men,  who 
stripped  the  rascals  and  whipped  them  soundly  before  they  let 
them  go,  which  httle  attention  caused  the  marauders  to  take 
a  solenm  oath  that  they  would  kill  Lawton  at  the  first 
opportunity. 

The  next  morning  Dunwoodie  arose  at  daylight  and  wan- 
dered some  distance  from  the  camp,  deep  in  meditation. 
Suddenly  the  command  rang  out :  "  Stand  or  die ! "  Looking  up 
he  saw  Harvey  Birch.     The  spy  held  a  musket  pointed  at  him. 

"What  do  you  wish?"  cried  Dunwoodie.  "If  you  wish  to 
murder  me,  fire.     I  will  never  be  your  prisoner." 

"Major  Dunwoodie,"  rephed  the  spy,  "I  desire  your  good 
opinion — the  lenient  judgment  of  all  men.  No  one  knows  me 
as  I  am  but  my  God  and  him." 

"Who  is  'him'?"  responded  Dunwoodie.  Without  reply- 
ing the  spy  discharged  the  musket  in  the  air  and  threw  the 
piece  at  the  feet  of  the  young  officer.  Then  saying,  "  I  give  you 
warning.    Guard  those  you  love,"  he  disappeared  into  the  forest. 

The  mind  of  the  young  officer  was  filled  with  doubt  re- 
garding the  true  character  of  this  mysterious  man  who  could 
have  killed  him  and  did  not.  He  remembered,  too,  that  Birch 
had  had  Captain  Lawton  at  his  mercy  but  had  abstained  from 
harming  him,  and  that  an  officer  suspected  to  have  come  from 
Harvey  had  given  him  a  note  warning  him  of  the  approach  of 


Ii8  THE  SPY 

royal  troops.  And  yet  the  pedler  was  outlawed  as  a  spy  and 
orders  were  out  to  hang  him  without  trial  should  he  be  caught. 

Dunwoodic  soon  received  orders  to  repair  with  the  main 
body  of  his  command  to  the  camp  at  Peekskill  with  his  prisoner, 
Henry  Wharton.  Before  leaving  he  sought  an  interview  with 
Frances,  but  the  young  girl  would  harken  to  none  of  his  protes- 
tations, charged  him  with  having  sought  the  love  of  Isabella 
Singleton  while  already  betrothed  to  herself,  and  almost  drove 
him  from  her  presence.  Then  she  flew  to  her  room  and  wept 
her  heart  out,  while  Dunwoodie  rode  moodily  north  with  his 
command  and  his  prisoner.  Captain  Lawton  was  left  behind 
with  a  handful  of  men  at  the  Four  Comers,  not  a  little  disgusted 
with  the  duty  assigned  him.  He  longed  for  action,  and  held  the 
art  of  war  to  consist  of  hand-to-hand  conflicts.  The  surgeon, 
Dr.  Sitgreaves,  on  the  contrary,  was  always  berating  the  cap- 
tain for  what  he  called  his  disregard  of  the  ethics  of  warfare. 
He  complained  with  justice  that  he  seldom  got  an  opportunity 
to  exercise  his  professional  skill  upon  the  enemy,  for  those  who 
fell  before  the  charge  of  Lawton  and  his  troopers  were  beyond 
all  hope  of  repair. 

One  evening  when  the  doctor  and  the  Captain  were  arguing 
upon  this  important  matter  a  message  was  received  inviting 
them  to  The  Locusts.  A  chaplain  of  the  royal  army  had  arrived 
from  New  York  with  authority  to  effect  the  exchange  of  Colonel 
Wellmere,  and  the  gallant  Colonel  had  resolved  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  opportunity  to  marry  Sarah  Wharton. 

But  the  marriage  was  not  to  be.  Just  as  the  clergyman  was 
about  to  conclude  the  ceremony  Harvey  Birch  appeared  sud- 
denly in  the  room.  Before  the  startled  guests  could  stir,  he 
cried:  "What  does  Colonel  Wellmere  here  when  his  wife  has 
crossed  the  ocean  to  meet  him?"  and  disappeared  as  suddenly 
and  as  strangely  as  he  had  come. 

Sarah  turned  an  anguished  look  on  the  face  of  the  man 
she  loved.  Reading  there  the  truth  of  the  accusation,  she  fell 
to  the  floor  insensible. 

"Step  this  way.  Colonel,"  said  Lawton  poHtely.  Leading 
the  way  to  the  stables,  he  ordered  his  own  black  charger, 
Roanoke,  to  be  brought  out.  "Those  who  should  avenge 
the  wrongs  of  that  young  lady  are  absent,"  said  the  Captain. 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  119 

"Here  is  a  fleet  horse;  you  have  Washington's  passport  in 
your  pocket.  Here  also  are  a  couple  of  pistols.  Please  to 
take  one.  I  will  give  you  the  fire.  Ho,  there,  you  man,  hold  a 
torch!" 

Retiring  a  few  paces,  he  lowered  his  pistol  and  bowed  to  the 
Colonel.  The  Englishman  took  aim,  and  the  report  of  his  wea- 
pon was  followed  by  a  scattering  of  gold  lace  from  the  epaulette 
of  the  American  officer. 

"Now,"  said  Lawton,  "it  is  my  turn." 

"And  mine  too!"  cried  a  voice  from  the  darkness.  It  was 
the  voice  of  the  leader  of  the  Skinners.  The  next  moment 
Lawton  found  himself  beset  on  all  sides  and  pulled  to  the 
ground. 

In  spite  of  his  herculean  frame  and  great  strength  and  agility 
he  would  have  been  killed  had  not  the  numbers  and  blind  anger 
of  his  assailants  caused  interference  with  each  other.  Thus 
it  happened  that,  with  swiftness  and  an  exhibition  of  giant 
strength,  the  Captain's  tall  form  suddenly  emerged  from  the 
heap  of  struggling  men,  and  the  next  instant  was  on  a  horse's 
back  and  riding  like  the  wind  amid  a  storm  of  bullets  pattering 
harmless  around  him. 

Half-way  to  the  Four  Comers  Lawton  met  his  troopers 
under  Sergeant  Hollister.  Harvey  Birch  had  suddenly  appeared 
at  the  post,  warned  Hollister  that  his  captain  was  in  danger,  and 
vanished  in  his  mysterious  way. 

Lawton  led  his  men  at  a  gallop  back  to  The  Locusts.  They 
found  the  house  in  flames  and  the  Skinners  plundering  it.  The 
marauders  fled  at  the  approach  of  the  dragoons,  and  the  members 
of  the  household  were  rescued.  Colonel  Wellmere  had  seized 
the  occasion  when  the  Skinners  had  fallen  upon  Lawton  to  get 
his  horse  from  the  stable  and  ride  away  toward  New  York. 

The  party  repaired  to  the  Four  Comers,  where  Captain 
Lawton  placed  his  rude  accommodations  at  their  disposal.  But 
the  Skinners  had  secretly  followed  along  the  flanks  of  the 
little  party,  and  as  the  Captain  and  Isabella  Singleton  stood 
before  a  window,  a  shot  suddenly  crashed  through  it.  The 
bullet  was  intended  for  the  Captain,  but  it  found  a  lodgment 
in  the  breast  of  the  Southcm  girl,  and  she  fell  mortally  wounded. 

While  the  troopers  scattered  in  a  vain  pursuit  of  the  Skin- 


I20  THE   SPY 

ncrs,  Isabella  breathed  her  last  in  the  arms  of  Frances.  With 
her  dying  breath  she  adjured  Frances  to  cherish  the  affection  of 
Dunwoodie,  and  acknowledged  that,  though  she  loved  the 
young  man,  her  love  had  been  unsought  and  unreturned  by  him. 

A  few  days  later  found  the  Wharton  family  at  Peekskill, 
awaiting  with  fear  the  result  of  the  court-martial  before  which 
the  young  royalist  Captain  was  being  tried  for  his  life.  Thanks 
to  the  dying  confession  of  Isabella,  Dunwoodie  and  Frances 
were  thoroughly  reconciled,  and  the  young  man  exerted  him- 
self energetically  in  behalf  of  his  friend.  But,  in  spite  of  every- 
thing, Henry  Wharton  was  found  guilty  and  condemned  to  be 
hanged. 

"I  will  go  to  Washington,"  cried  Dunwoodie.  "I  will 
beseech  him.  I  will  draw  my  sword  no  longer  in  his  service  if 
he  does  not  grant  me  the  life  of  my  friend." 

"Oh,"  said  Frances,  "if  we  could  but  find  Mr.  Harper; 
perhaps  he  could  do  something.     He  promised." 

"Mr.  Harper!"  exclaimed  Dunwoodie,  "Mr.  Harper! 
What  do  you  know  of  him  ?     Have  you  a  promise  from  him  ?  " 

When  Frances  described  the  stately  stranger  and  told  of  his 
parting  words  to  Henry,  Dunwoodie  started  joyously,  and 
cried:   "All  will  yet  be  well!     Henry  will  not  die!" 

Shortly  after  his  departure  a  tall,  gaunt  man  dressed  in 
clerical  garb  appeared  and  announced  himself  as  a  minister 
from  a  neighboring  village  who  had  been  sent  to  administer 
spiritual  comfort  to  the  condemned  ofiEicer,  who  was  kept  there 
under  guard. 

He  desired  to  be  left  alone  with  the  Captain,  but  kept  Cassar, 
Wharton's  faithful  black,  in  the  room.  As  soon  as  they  were 
alone  the  stranger  tore  off  his  spectacles  and  wig  and  stood 
revealed  as  Harvey  Birch.  He  caused  Henry  and  Caesar  to 
exchange  clothing  and  gave  the  officer  a  woolly  wig  to  put  on. 
Having  resumed  his  own  disguise,  he  said  to  the  sentinel  as 
they  went  out,  "The  erring  sinner  is,  I  trust,  awakened  to  his 
sins.  I  will  send  back  by  this  black  man,  his  servant,  a  book 
which  shall  still  further  touch  his  obdurate  heart." 

Harvey  and  Henry  had  almost  reached  the  woods  when  they 
glanced  behind  to  see  a  party  of  cavalry  in  full  chase  after  them. 
But  Harvey's  knowledge  of  the  woodland  paths,  and  the  gather- 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  121 

ing  night,  stood  the  fugitives  in  good  stead,  and  the  dragoons 
had  a  fruitless  search.  When  the  dragoons  returned  Frances 
heard  orders  given  to  send  scouting-parties  to  scour  the  woods 
to  the  south.  She  knew  that  her  brother  had  probably  been 
taken  to  a  certain  hut  built  in  a  mountain  not  far  across  the 
plain  of  Peekskill;  the  night  was  dark,  yet  she  could  find  the 
way.  Stealing  out  of  the  American  lines,  the  girl  fled  across 
country  and  finally  reached  the  place  she  sought.  But  to  her 
surprise  on  entering  the  hut  she  found  there,  not  Harvey  and 
her  brother,  but  Mr.  Harper,  who  was  intently  studying  a 
large  map.  Rapidly  the  girl  told  her  story,  and  reminded  Har- 
per of  his  promise  made  at  The  Locusts.  He  told  her  to  hurry 
back  to  the  camp  and  try  to  detain  Dunwoodie  for  two  hours. 

Soon  after  her  return  Dunwoodie  arrived,  having  been  unable 
to  find  Harper;  and  Washington  was  not  at  his  headquarters. 
But  he  had  hopes  of  being  more  successful  the  next  morning. 
When  he  was  told  of  the  escape  of  the  Captain  he  foresaw  with 
despair  that  he  would  be  sent  in  pursuit,  and  soon  the  expected 
orders  came;  his  troop  was  under  arms,  and  only  awaited  his 
appearance  to  ride  off  in  the  pursuit. 

Frances,  who  had  kept  an  anxious  eye  on  the  clock,  now 
tried  in  every  manner  to  delay  the  departure  of  her  lover. 
Finally,  when  she  had  exhausted  all  other  arts,  she  played  her 
last  desperate  card  and  handed  the  young  man  a  note  which 
Henry  had  hastily  written  before  he  left  the  house.  This  note 
begged  the  Virginian  officer  to  spare  Caesar  for  his  part  in  the 
escape,  and  to  protect  his  aunt  and  his  two  sisters. 

Especially  did  he  recommend  Frances  to  the  love  and  tender- 
ness of  his  old  friend  and  besought  him  to  gain  the  right  to  pro- 
tect her  by  marrying  her  at  once. 

"Am  I  worthy  of  this  confidence?"  exclaimed  Peyton. 
"I,  who  ride  this  night  to  capture  your  brother?" 

"And  would  you  do  less  of  your  duty  because  I  am  your 
wife,  Major  Dunwoodie?"  asked  Frances. 

"Henry  is  safe  anyway,"  said  Dunwoodie.  "Harper  will 
save  him  even  if  I  capture  him;  but  I  will  show  the  world  a  bride- 
groom who  is  not  afraid  to  arrest  the  brother  of  his  bride." 

But  now  Frances  broke  down.  "I  cannot  enter  into  such  a 
relation  with  a  fraud  upon  my  soul!"  she  cried.     Then  she 


122  THE   SPY 

confessed  that  she  knew — no  matter  how — that  time  was  all- 
important  and  that  she  had  been  trying  to  detain  her  lover  until 
the  clock  was  on  the  stroke  of  nine. 

"Time  enough,"  said  Dunwoodie.  "Two  hours  will  take 
me  through  the  hills,  and  to-morrow  I  shall  return  with  Henry 
to  enliven  our  wedding- feast,  with  Washington's  pardon  for  him 
in  my  pocket." 

A  clergyman  was  called  in,  and,  just  as  the  clock  struck 
nine,  Peyton  Dunwoodie  and  Frances  Wharton  were  pronounced 
man  and  wife.  Kissing  his  bride,  the  young  officer  ran  to  mount 
his  horse.  But  before  his  foot  touched  the  stirrup  an  orderly 
from  headquarters  dashed  up  and  handed  him  a  note.  It  was 
an  order  from  Washington  ordering  him  to  immediate  duty  at 
Croton  Heights,  and  adding:  "The  escape  of  the  spy  has  been 
reported  to  me,  but  his  capture  is  unimportant  compared  with 
the  duty  I  now  assign  you." 

So  there  was  a  merry  wedding- party,  after  all;  and  a  few 
days  later  Harvey  Birch  placed  his  charge  safely  on  board  of  a 
British  man-o'-war  lying  off  Yonkers. 

Poor  Lawton  rode  away  with  Dunwoodie  and  found  his 
longed-for  fighting  at  last.  But  when  it  was  over  he  did  not 
ride  back  on  his  black  charger  Roanoke;  for  he  lay  dead  on  the 
field  in  his  youth  and  beauty. 

Some  time  later  Harvey  Birch,  at  the  headquarters  of  the 
American  army  in  a  New  Jersey  town,  stood  before  a  stately 
and  noble  man.  It  was  the  stranger  whom  the  family  at  The 
Locusts  had  known  as  Mr.  Harper.  But  the  world  knows  him 
as  George  Washington. 

George  Washington  was  looking  at  the  spy  with  approbation 
and  regard;  for  Harvey  Birch,  while  pretending  to  be  a  royalist 
spy,  had  in  reality  been  a  spy  in  the  personal  service  of 
Washington — a  secret  known  to  those  two  only. 

The  movement  on  Yorktown  was  about  to  be  made;  and 
Washington,  having  no  further  need  for  the  spy  in  the  North, 
where  alone  he  was  useful,  now  proposed  to  pay  him  for  his 
work.  But  Birch  refused  sternly  to  touch  the  offered  money, 
and  the  two  patriots  separated  with  feelings  of  mutual  ad- 
miration and  respect. 

In  the  War  of  1812  an  old,  old  man  again  went  about  as  a 


JAMES   FENIMORE  COOPER  123 

pedler  and  did  good  service  as  spy  for  the  Americans  on  the 
Canadian  frontier.  One  day,  when  a  battle  was  joined  near 
him,  he  threw  away  his  pedler's  pack,  seized  a  musket  from 
a  fallen  soldier  and  rushed  into  the  fight. 

After  the  battle  they  found  the  old  man  lying  there  dead, 
with  a  smile  on  his  lips,  and  in  a  httle  packet  next  to  his  heart 
was  a  letter  from  Washington  addressed  to  Harvey  Birch,  and 
certifying  to  the  virtues  of  "a  faithful  and  unrequited  servant 
of  his  country." 


THE  PIONEERS;    OR,  THE  SOURCES  OF  THE 
SUSQUEHANNA 

A  tale  of  the  early  settlement  of  Otsego  County,  New  York,  ten  years  after 
the  close  of  the  Revolution.  The  tract  of  country  described  was  originally 
included  in  Albany  County;  it  then  became,  by  division,  a  part  of  Montgomery 
County,  and  finally,  after  the  peace  of  1783,  was  set  off  as  a  county  by  itself. 
Tlie  name  Otsego  is  said  to  be  compounded  of  the  Indian  Ot,  a  place  of  meeting, 
and  Sego  or  Sago,  the  ordinary  term  of  salutation  by  the  aborigines  of  the  region. 
The  story,  which  opens  in  1793,  was  the  earliest  written  of  the  Leather-Stocking 
Tales.  The  character  of  Leather-Stocking  is  a  creation,  and  most  of  the  others 
are  fictitious.     Templeton  is,  of  course,  Cooperstown. 


ARMADUKE  TEMPLE,  of  Quaker  origin, 
his  ancestor  having  come  into  the  country  with 
William  Penn,  was  the  wealthiest  landholder  in 
Otsego  County  and  held  its  highest  judicial 
station.  His  parents  had  been  enabled  to  give 
him  a  better  education  than  the  common  schools 
afforded,  and  he  had  thus  formed  acquaintances 
with  persons  somewhat  higher  than  himself  in  the 
social  scale.  In  the  select  school  which  he  at- 
tended he  had  formed  an  intimacy  with  Edward  Effingham, 
the  son  of  a  wealthy  family  of  high  court  connections,  who 
thought  it  a  degradation  to  its  members  to  descend  to  the  pur- 
suits of  commerce,  and  who  never  emerged  from  the  privacy  of 
domestic  life  unless  to  preside  in  the  councils  of  the  colony,  or  to 
bear  arms  in  her  defense.  When,  after  forty  years  of  active 
service,  the  father  of  Edward  retired  with  the  rank  of  major,  he 
became  a  man  of  the  first  consideration  in  his  native  colony  of 
New  York  and  maintained  a  domestic  establishment  of  compar- 
ative splendor. 

Edward,  the  friend  of  Marmaduke,  was  the  Major's  only 
child,  and  on  his  marriage  with  a  lady  to  whom  the  father  was 
particularly  partial  the  Major  gave  him  his  whole  estate,  thus 
throwing  himself  on  his  son's  filial  piety  for  his  own  future 

124 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  125 

maintenance.  One  of  the  first  acts  of  the  young  man,  on  com- 
ing into  the  possession  of  wealth,  was  to  seek  his  early  friend, 
who  had  been  left  at  the  death  of  his  father  in  somewhat 
straitened  circumstances,  and  to  proffer  assistance,  which  was 
gratefully  accepted.  A  mercantile  house  was  established  in 
Philadelphia,  of  which  Temple  was  the  ostensible  proprietor 
while  Effingham  was,  in  secret,  entitled  to  an  equal  share  in 
the  profits. 

This  connection  was  kept  secret  for  two  reasons:  first, 
Major  Effingham,  the  father,  had  a  supreme  contempt  for 
Quakers,  and,  as  Temple  was  then  quite  the  Quaker  in  ex- 
ternals, the  son  did  not  care  to  encounter  the  prejudices  of  the 
father  in  that  respect;  and  secondly,  to  the  descendant  of  a 
line  of  soldiers  commerce  seemed  a  degrading  pursuit.  Mar- 
maduke  directed  the  operations  of  the  house  in  a  way  to  afford 
rich  returns,  and  after  his  marriage  with  a  lady  without  the 
pale  and  influence  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  there  seemed  a 
prospect  of  removing  the  veil  from  the  intercourse  of  the  two 
friends,  when  the  troubles  that  preceded  the  War  of  the  Revolu- 
tion put  an  end  to  it.  Effingham  was  intensely  loyal,  while 
Temple  warmly  espoused  the  cause  of  the  colonists. 

A  short  time  before  the  battle  of  Lexington,  Effingham, 
already  a  widower,  transmitted  to  Marmaduke,  for  safe-keeping, 
all  his  valuable  effects  and  papers.  When  the  war  began  in 
earnest  he  took  the  field  at  the  head  of  a  provincial  corps,  and  all 
intercourse  ceased  between  the  friends.  When  it  became  neces- 
sary to  leave  Philadelphia,  Marmaduke  took  the  precaution  to 
remove  his  effects,  including  the  papers  of  his  friend,  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  royal  forces.  During  the  war  he  served  his  coun- 
try in  various  civil  capacities  with  credit  and  ability;  but  he 
also  looked  out  for  his  own  interests;  for  when  the  confiscated 
estates  of  loyalists  came  under  the  hammer,  he  appeared  in  New 
York  and  purchased  much  property  at  low  prices,  among  others 
the  Effingham  estates.  When  the  war  ended  Mr.  Temple  turned 
his  attention  to  the  settlement  of  the  tracts  he  had  purchased. 
His  property  rapidly  increased  and  he  was  already  ranked 
among  the  most  wealthy  and  important  of  his  countrymen. 
To  inherit  this  wealth  he  had  but  one  child,  a  daughter,  Eliza- 
beth, who  had  been  educated  at  one  of  the  best  schools  of  the 


126  THE   PIONEERS 

period.  He  had  gone  to  bring  this  daughter  home  to  preside 
over  a  household  that  had  too  long  wanted  a  mistress,  when  an 
incident  occurred  that  led  to  remarkable  consequences. 

It  was  just  before  Christmas.  The  Judge  and  his  daughter, 
riding  in  a  sleigh  driven  by  a  negro,  had  come  in  sight  of  their 
home  and  the  \'illage  of  Templeton  hard  by,  when  the  baying  of 
hounds  was  heard. 

"Hold  up,  Aggy,"  said  he,  "there  is  old  Hector.  Leather- 
Stocking  has  started  game  in  the  hills.  Now,  Bess,  if  thou 
canst  stand  fire,  perhaps  I  will  give  thee  a  saddle  for  thy 
Christmas  dinner." 

The  Judge  took  out  of  the  sleigh  a  double-barreled  fowling- 
piece,  and  was  about  to  move  forward  when  a  fine  buck  darted 
into  the  path  a  few  rods  ahead.  Both  barrels  were  discharged 
at  him,  but  apparently  without  effect,  when  a  third  report  and 
then  a  fourth  caused  the  animal  to  leap  high  in  the  air  and  then 
fall  and  roll  over  the  crust  with  its  own  velocity. 

"Ha!  Natty,"  he  cried,  "had  I  known  you  were  in  ambush, 
I  should  not  have  fired." 

"Did  ye  think  to  stop  a  full-grovm  buck  with  that  popgun, 
Judge?" 

"Here  are  two  hurts:  one  through  the  neck  and  the  other 
through  the  heart.  It  is  by  no  means  certain,  Natty,  but 
I  gave  him  one  of  the  two." 

"If  there  are  two  balls  through  the  deer,  weren't  there  two 
rifles  fired  ?  And  you  will  own  yourself  that  the  buck  fell  at 
the  last  shot,  which  was  sent  from  a  truer  and  a  younger  hand 
than  yourn  or  mine.  I  can  live  without  the  venison,  though 
I  am  a  poor  man,  but  I  don't  love  to  give  up  my  lawful  dues  in 
a  free  country." 

An  air  of  sullen  dissatisfaction  pervaded  the  manner  of  the 
hunter  during  this  speech,  which  the  Judge  perceived. 

"Nay,  Natty,"  he  replied  with  undisturbed  good  humor, 
"it  is  for  the  honor  I  contend.  A  few  dollars  will  pay  for  the 
venison;  but  what  will  requite  me  for  the  lost  honor  of  a  buck's 
tail  in  my  cap  ?  What  say  you,  friend  ?  "  he  continued,  turning 
to  Natty's  companion,  a  man  who  stood  leaning  on  his  rifle. 

"That  I  killed  the  deer,"  he  answered  with  haughtiness. 

"I  am  outvoted,"  replied  the  Judge  with  a  smile.     "But 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  127 

what  say  you,  young  man;  will  three  dollars  pay  you  for  the 
buck?" 

"First  let  us  determine  the  question  of  right,"  said  the 
youth,  firmly  but  respectfully,  and  in  language  far  superior 
to  his  appearance.  "With  how  many  shot  did  you  load  your 
gun?" 

"With  five,  sir,"  said  the  Judge.  "Are  they  not  enough  to 
slay  a  buck  ?  " 

"One  would  do  it;  but  you  fired  in  this  direction,  and  here 
are  four  bullets  in  the  tree." 

"You  are  making  out  the  case  against  yourself,"  said  the 
Judge,  laughing,  as  he  examined  the  fresh  marks  in  the  bark  of 
the  pine ;  "  where  is  the  fifth  ?  " 

"Here!"  said  the  youth,  throwing  back  his  coat  and  ex- 
hibiting a  hole  in  his  under  garment  through  which  blood  was 
oozing. 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  the  Judge  with  horror.  "Quick! 
get  into  my  sleigh ;  it  is  but  a  mile  to  the  village,  where  surgical 
aid  can  be  obtained.  Thou  shalt  live  with  me  till  thy  wound  be 
healed,  ay,  and  forever  afterward." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  good  intention,  but  I  must  decline 
your  offer.  I  have  a  friend  who  would  be  uneasy  were  he  to 
hear  that  I  am  hurt  and  away  from  him." 

"But  I  buy  your  deer.  Here,  this  will  repay  thee,  both  for 
thy  shot  and  my  own." 

The  youth  bowed  at  the  offer  of  the  bank-note,  but  replied: 

"Excuse  me;   I  have  need  of  the  venison." 

"Take  it,  I  entreat  you,"  said  the  Judge;  and,  lowering  his 
voice  to  a  whisper,  he  added,  "it  is  for  a  hundred  dollars." 

The  youth  seemed  to  hesitate  an  instant,  and  then,  blush- 
ing, again  declined  the  offer.  "Surely,  surely,  young  man — 
sir,"  cried  Elizabeth,  throwing  back  the  hood  which  concealed 
her  features,  "you  would  not  pain  my  father  so  much  as  to  have 
him  think  that  he  leaves  thus  a  fellow  creature  whom  he  has 
injured.     I  entreat  you  to  go  with  us,  and  receive  medical  aid." 

Unable  to  resist  the  kind  urgency  of  the  travelers,  and  the 
advice  of  Leather- Stocking,  who  said  he  was  now  too  old  to  try 
to  cut  out  a  bullet,  the  youth,  though  still  with  evident  reluc- 
tance, suffered  himself  to  be  persuaded  to  enter  the  sleigh. 


128  THE   PIONEERS 

As  the  horses  started,  he  called  out  to  his  companion,  who 
declined  to  accompany  him: 

"Natty,  say  nothing  of  the  shot,  nor  of  where  I  am  going; 
remember,  Natty,  as  you  love  me." 

"Trust  old  Leather-Stocking,"  returned  the  hunter  signifi- 
cantly. 

After  the  young  man  had  had  his  wound  dressed  by  the  doc- 
tor of  the  village,  who  had  been  summoned  to  the  Judge's 
house,  he  arose  to  go,  saying:  "There  remains  but  one  thing 
more  to  be  settled ;  and  that  is  our  respective  rights  to  the  deer, 
Judge  Temple." 

"I  acknowledge  it  to  be  thine,"  said  Marmaduke.  "In 
the  morning  thou  wilt  call  here,  and  we  can  adjust  this  as  well  as 
more  important  matters.  Aggy  will  convey  you  to  your  friend 
in  the  sleigh." 

"  But,  sir,  I  cannot  go  without  a  part  of  the  deer,"  he  replied, 
seemingly  struggling  with  his  feelings. 

"  Put  the  deer  in  the  sleigh,"  said  the  Judge  to  an  attendant, 
"and  have  the  youth  conveyed  to  the  hut  of  Leather-Stocking. 
But,  sir,  I  trust  that  I  shall  see  thee  again,  in  order  to  compen- 
sate thee  for  the  wrong  I  have  done  thee." 

"  I  am  called  Edwards,"  replied  the  hunter,  "  Oliver  Edwards. 
I  am  easily  to  be  seen,  for  I  live  nigh  by,  and  am  not  afraid  to 
show  my  face,  never  having  injured  any  man." 

"It  is  we  who  have  injured  you,  sir,"  said  Elizabeth.  "If 
you  decline  our  assistance  you  will  give  my  father  great  pain. 
He  would  gladly  see  you  in  the  morning." 

The  young  man  gazed  at  the  fair  speaker  until  his  earnest 
look  brought  the  blood  to  her  temples,  and  replied:  "In  the 
morning,  then,  will  I  return,  and  see  Judge  Temple." 

"It  shall  be  my  task,"  said  Marmaduke,  as  soon  as  Edwards 
was  gone,  "to  provide  in  some  manner  for  the  youth.  Yet  I 
anticipate  some  trouble  in  inducing  him  to  accept  my  services. 
He  showed  a  marked  dislike,  I  thought,  Bess,  to  my  offer  of  a 
residence  here  for  life." 

"Really,  dear  sir,"  said  Elizabeth,  "I  have  not  studied  the 
gentleman  so  closely  as  to  read  his  feelings  in  his  countenance. 
I  dare  say  Benjamin  can  tell  you  something  about  him." 

"Ay,   I  have   seen  the   boy  before,"  said  Benjamin,  who 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  129 

acted  as  a  sort  of  major-domo  on  the  premises;  "he  hove  in 
sight  about  three  weeks  since  in  company  with  Natty  Bumppo, 
bringing  the  scalp  of  a  wolf  for  the  bounty.  Leather-Stocking 
says  he's  a  sure  shot  and  certain  death  to  wild  beasts." 

"Does  he  live  in  the  hut  of  Bumppo?"  asked  the  Judge. 

"Cheek  by  jowl;  the  two  are  always  together.  They  say 
the  young  man  is  a  half-breed,  and  that  his  father  was  a  Dela- 
ware chief." 

On  the  following  day,  when  Judge  Temple  again  met  the 
young  man,  he  said: 

"I  have  greatly  injured  you,  Mr.  Edwards,  but  fortunately 
it  is  in  my  power  to  compensate  you.  My  kinsman,  Richard 
Jones,  has  received  an  appointment  that  will  deprive  me  of  his 
assistance,  and  leaves  me  destitute  of  one  who  might  greatly 
aid  me  with  his  pen.  My  doors  are  open  to  you.  Become  my 
assistant  and  receive  such  compensation  as  your  services  will 
deserve." 

Edwards  at  first  declined,  on  the  plea  that  such  duties  would 
interfere  too  much  with  other  more  important  business;  but 
when  Elizabeth  added  her  entreaties  to  her  father's,  he  yielded 
and  consented  to  become  an  inmate  of  Judge  Temple's  house, 
with  the  understanding  that  it  was  to  be  only  an  experiment,  and 
that  the  engagement  could  be  rescinded  by  either  party  at  will. 

This  agreement  on  the  part  of  the  young  hunter  was  partly 
due  perhaps  to  an  Indian  called  Chingachgook  or  the  Great 
Snake,  who  had  been  christened  John  Mohegan  on  his  acceptance 
of  Christianity.  He  was  a  great  friend  of  Natty  Bumppo's,  and 
was  often  a  visitor  at  his  cabin.  He  had  listened  with  great 
interest  to  the  offers  of  the  Judge,  and  when  he  saw  Edwards's 
evident  disinclination  to  accept  them,  he  drew  nearer  to  them 
and  said : 

"Listen  to  your  Father;  his  words  are  old.  Let  the  Young 
Eagle  and  the  Great  Land  Chief  eat  together;  let  them  sleep, 
without  fear,  near  each  other.  Learn  to  wait,  my  son;  you 
are  a  Delaware,  and  an  Indian  warrior  knows  how  to  be  patient." 

After  the  young  man  and  his  friends  had  departed,  Mr. 
Jones,  not  altogether  pleased  with  the  accession  to  the  house- 
hold, remarked: 

"Really,  my  dear  Marmaduke,  I  think  you  did  exercise 

A.D.,  VOL.  V. — 9 


130  THE   PIONEERS 

the  Christian  virtue  of  patience  to  the  utmost.  I  was  disgusted 
with  his  airs.  In  what  apartment  is  he  to  be  placed,  sir,  and  at 
what  table  is  he  to  receive  his  nectar  and  ambrosia?" 

"I  am  but  too  happy,  Dickon,  to  tempt  him  to  eat  with 
ourselves,"  said  the  Judge.  "He  is  to  fill  the  station  of  a  gentle- 
man.    Let  him  receive  the  treatment  due  to  his  place." 

Meanwhile  Leather-Stocking,  the  Indian,  and  Edwards  had 
left  the  village  and  were  crossing  the  frozen  lake  towards  the 
mountain,  when  Edwards  said: 

"Who  could  have  foreseen  this  a  month  since!  I  have 
consented  to  serve  Marmaduke  Temple, — to  be  an  inmate  in 
the  dwelhng  of  the  greatest  enemy  of  my  race;  yet  what  better 
could  I  do  ?  The  servitude  cannot  be  long;  and  when  the  mo- 
tive for  submitting  to  it  ceases  to  exist,  I  will  shake  it  off  like 
dust  from  my  feet." 

"Is  he  a  Mingo,  that  you  will  call  him  enemy?"  asked 
Chingachgook. 

"Well,  I'm  mistrustful,  John,"  said  Leather-Stocking,  "of 
such  smooth  speakers.  I've  known  the  whites  talk  fair  when 
they  wanted  the  Indian  lands  most.  This  I  will  say,  though 
white  myself  and  bom  of  honest  parents." 

"I  will  submit,"  said  the  youth.  " I  will  forget,  old  Mohegan, 
that  I  am  the  descendant  of  a  Delaware  chief,  who  once  was  mas- 
ter of  these  noble  hills  and  vales.  Yes,  I  will  become  his 
bondsman — his  slave." 

Such  were  the  incidents  that  led  to  the  coming  into  Judge 
Temple's  family  of  this  unknown  youth,  whose  sudden  eleva- 
tion excited  no  surprise  in  that  changeful  country.  He  attended 
strictly  and  earnestly  to  his  duties  during  the  day,  but  his  nights 
were  often  spent  in  the  hut  of  Leather-Stocking,  the  intercourse 
between  the  three  hunters  being  maintained  with  a  certain  air 
of  mystery,  but  with  much  zeal  and  apparent  interest  to  all 
parties.  While  Natty  and  the  Mohegan  seldom  came  to  the 
mansion-house,  Edwards  sought  every  leisure  moment  to  visit 
his  old  abode,  from  which  he  would  often  return  in  the  gloomy 
hours  of  night,  through  the  snow,  or,  if  detained  late,  with  the 
morning  sun. 

"It  is  not  at  all  remarkable,"  said  Richard;  "a  half-breed 
can  never  be  weaned  from  savage  ways;    and  for  one  of  his 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  131 

lineage,  the  boy  is  much  nearer  civilization  than  could  be 
expected." 

Elizabeth  had  a  friend  in  Louisa  Grant,  the  daughter  of  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Grant,  the  rector  of  the  church  in  the  village.  One 
day  the  two  met  Edwards  as  they  were  ascending  the  hill.  As 
the  young  man  had  now  been  an  inmate  of  the  house  about  five 
months,  a  certain  degree  of  intimacy  had  sprung  up  between 
him  and  Elizabeth. 

"Your  father  is  not  pleased  that  you  should  walk  unat- 
tended in  the  hills,  Miss  Temple.  If  I  might  offer  myself  as  a 
protector — " 

"Does  my  father  select  Mr.  Oliver  Edwards  as  the  organ 
of  his  displeasure  ?  "  interrupted  the  lady. 

"Good  Heavens!  you  misunderstand  my  meaning;  I  should 
have  said  'uneasy'  for  'not  pleased.'  I  am  his  servant,  madam, 
and  yours.  With  your  consent,  I  will  keep  nigh  you  on  the 
mountain." 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Edwards;  but  where  there  is  no  danger, 
no  protection  is  required.  We  have  a  body-guard.  Here, 
Brave — Brave!"  The  dog,  a  huge  mastiff,  came  to  her  with 
a  stately  gait,  and  the  two  resumed  their  walk. 

"I  am  afraid,  Elizabeth,"  said  Louisa,  looking  back,  "that 
we  have  mortified  Oliver.  He  is  still  standing  where  we  left 
him.     Perhaps  he  thinks  us  proud." 

"He  thinks  justly,"  said  Miss  Temple.  "We  are  too 
proud  to  admit  of  such  attentions  from  a  young  man  in  an 
equivocal  position.  I  would  give  much,  Louisa,  to  know  all 
that  those  rude  logs  have  heard  and  witnessed."  They 
were  both  looking  at  Natty  Bumppo's  hut  at  the  instant. 

"I  am  sure,"  replied  Lousia,  "they  would  tell  nothing  to  the 
disadvantage  of  Mr.  Edwards." 

"Perhaps  not;  but  they  might  at  least  tell  who  he  is." 

"Why,  dear  Miss  Temple,  we  know  that  already.  Your 
cousin  Richard  says  the  kings  of  England  used  to  keep  gentle- 
men as  agents  among  the  Indians,  and  that  they  frequently 
sent  their  children  to  England  and  even  to  colleges  to  be  edu- 
cated. This  is  the  way  he  accounts  for  the  liberal  manner  in 
which  Mr.  Edwards  has  been  taught." 

"Mr.  Richard  Jones,  dear,  has  a  theory  for  everything;  but 


1.^2 


THE   PIONEERS 


has  he  one  to  explain  the  reason  why  that  hut  is  the  only  habi- 
tation within  fifty  miles  of  us  whose  door  is  not  open  to  every 
person  who  may  choose  to  lift  its  latch?" 

"I  have  never  heard  him  say  anything  on  the  subject," 
replied  Louisa;  "but  I  suppose  that,  as  they  are  poor,  they  are 
anxious  to  keep  the  little  that  they  honestly  own." 

The  two  went  on  alone  up  the  mountain,  and  were  attacked 
by  a  painter  or  panther,  which,  in  defense  of  her  cub,  killed  old 
Brave,  and  was  about  to  spring  on  the  nearly  unconscious  girls 
when  killed  by  a  shot  from  Leather-Stocking's  rifle. 

At  the  same  time  that  his  daughter  was  walking  with 
Louisa  up  the  mountain.  Judge  Temple  was  riding  with  the 
sheriff,  Richard  Jones,  in  search  of  a  mine  which  the  latter 
believed  to  exist  on  its  slope.  Richard,  fertile  in  theories, 
had  assumed  that  there  was  some  latent  reason  for  the 
coming  of  Indian  John  and  Oliver  Edwards  to  the  hut 
of  Natty  Bumppo,  and  for  the  evident  secrecy  in  regard  to 
the  cabin. 

"I  have  seen  Mohegan  and  Leather-Stocking,  with  my 
own  eyes,  going  up  and  coming  down  the  mountain  with 
spades  and  picks;  and  others  have  seen  them  carrying  things  into 
their  hut  after  dark  in  a  secret  and  mysterious  manner.  Mr. 
Edwards  then  appears.  The  frosts  prevent  their  digging,  and 
he  avails  himself  of  a  lucky  accident  to  get  into  good  quarters. 
But  even  now  he  is  quite  half  his  time  in  that  hut — many  hours 
every  night.     They  are  smelting,  Duke,  they  are  smelting." 

"Richard,"  said  the  Judge,  "there  are  many  reasons  against 
the  truth  of  thy  conjectures;  but  thou  hast  awakened  sus- 
picions which  must  be  satisfied.  Where  is  it  they  have  been 
digging  ?  I  must  know  the  reasons  of  their  making  an  excava- 
tion on  my  land." 

"We'll  be  safe  in  visiting  it,"  said  Richard,  "as  they  are  all 
on  the  lake  fishing.     Come  this  way." 

They  had  dismounted  and  fastened  their  horses.  Judge 
Temple  followed  the  sheriff  up  a  steep  path  to  a  sort  of  natural 
opening  in  the  hillside,  in  front  of  which  lay  a  pile  of  earth, 
some  of  it  fresh.  On  entering  they  found  an  excavation  some 
twenty  feet  wide  and  nearly  twice  that  distance  in  depth,  the 
roof  being  a  natural  stratum  of  rock.     Looking  near  by  in  the 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  133 

bushes,  the  sheriff  found  the  tools  that  had  been  used  in  the 
work. 

"Judge  Temple,  are  you  satisfied?" 

"Perfectly,  that  there  is  something  mysterious  and  perplex- 
ing in  this  business;  yet  I  see  no  signs  of  ore." 

The  Judge  took  an  accurate  survey  of  the  place,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  find  it  again,  and  the  two  returned  to  their  horses.  They 
separated  when  they  reached  the  road  to  the  valley,  and  the 
Judge  soliloquized  as  he  dropped  his  reins  and  let  his  horse 
pick  his  way  down: 

"There  may  be  more  in  this  than  I  supposed.  I  have  suf- 
fered my  feeling  to  blind  my  reason,  in  admitting  an  unknown 
youth  into  my  dwelling.  I  will  have  Leather- Stocking  before 
me,  and  extract  the  truth  by  a  few  plain  questions." 

Just  then  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Elizabeth  and  Louisa 
descending  the  mountain  path,  and  riding  up  to  them  he  dis- 
mounted and  joined  them.  Their  vivid  description  of  their 
encounter  with  the  panther  put  all  thoughts  of  mines  and  ex- 
cavations out  of  his  head;  and  Leather-Stocking  was  brought 
once  more  to  his  recollection,  not  as  a  lawless  squatter,  but 
as  the  preserver  of  his  child. 

Wlien  they  arrived  at  the  house.  Judge  Temple  found 
Hiram  Doolittle  awaiting  him,  to  get  a  search-warrant  to  ex- 
amine the  cabin  of  Natty  Bumppo,  who  was  suspected  of  hav- 
ing killed  a  deer  out  of  season. 

"Thou  art  a  magistrate,  Mr.  Doolittle;  issue  the  warrant 
thyself.     Why  trouble  me  with  it  ?  " 

"Why,  it's  the  first  complaint  under  the  law,  and  as  you 
have  set  your  heart  on  enforcing  it,  I  thought  it  best  that  the 
authority  should  come  from  you." 

"Well,  go  into  my  office,"  said  the  Judge,  perceiving  that  his 
reputation  for  impartiality  was  at  stake;  "I  will  join  you  and 
sign  the  warrant." 

"It  is  more  terrific  in  sound  than  in  reality,"  he  explained 
to  Elizabeth,  who  was  about  to  remonstrate.  "It  will  be  only 
to  examine  his  cabin  and  find  the  animal,  when  you  can  pay 
the  penalty  out  of  your  own  pocket,  Bess." 

But  when  Hiram  went  with  others  to  the  hut  of  Leather- 
Stocking,  the  old  hunter  met  them  rifle  in  hand,  and  refused 


134  THE   PIONEERS 

them  admission;  and  when  Hiram  persisted  and  put  his  foot 
on  the  threshold,  Natty  hurled  him  twenty  feet  down  the  bank. 

This  made  Leather-Stocking  amenable  to  a  charge  of  as- 
saulting a  magistrate  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty.  Judge 
Temple,  indignant  at  this,  said  to  his  daughter: 

"  Our  plans  are  defeated.  The  obstinacy  of  Leather-Stock- 
ing has  brought  down  the  indignation  of  the  law  on  his  head,  and 
it  is  now  out  of  my  power  to  avert  it.  When  he  appears  before 
me,  as  his  judge,  he  shall  find  that  his  former  conduct  shall  not 
aggravate  any  more  than  his  services  shall  extenuate  his  crime." 

The  result  was  that  Leather-Stocking  was  cast  into  jail, 
from  which  Edwards  released  him.  Elizabeth,  who  had  called 
at  the  prison  to  press  money  on  the  old  man,  was  unsuccessful 
in  inducing  him  to  accept  it,  but  promised  to  meet  him  the 
following  day  at  noon  on  top  of  the  mountain  with  a  can  of 
the  best  gunpowder. 

At  the  appointed  time  Elizabeth  and  Louisa  set  out  to  carry 
the  can  up  the  mountain;  but  when  they  reached  the  bridge 
Louisa  declared  that  she  was  not  equal  ro  going  on  the  hill 
where  they  had  so  lately  had  so  terrible  an  adventure.  Eliza- 
beth stood  a  moment  in  deep  reflection,  then,  shaking  off 
her  irresolution,  determined  to  keep  her  promise  if  she  had  to  go 
alone.  Bidding  Louisa  wait  for  her  at  the  edge  of  the  wood, 
she  hastened  up  the  hill  and  soon  stood  on  a  cleared  space  on 
the  summit,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  village.  There  she 
found  John  Mohegan,  the  Indian,  seated  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen 
oak.  He  was  in  full  panoply  of  paint  and  feathers,  as  if  dressed 
for  some  great  occasion,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  and  solemn. 

"Where  is  Leather-Stocking,  John?  I  have  brought  him 
this  canister  of  powder.     Will  you  take  charge  of  it  for  him  ?  " 

As  the  old  Indian  raised  his  head  and  took  the  canister. 
Miss  Temple  suddenly  became  conscious  of  volumes  of  smoke 
over  their  heads,  whirling  in  eddies  and  intercepting  the  view. 

"What  means  it,  John?"  she  cried.  "I  feel  a  heat  like  the 
glow  of  a  furnace." 

Before  the  Indian  could  reply,  a  voice  shouted  in  the  woods: 
"  Where  are  you,  old  Mohegan  ?     The  woods  are  on  fire ! " 

Oliver  Edwards  appeared  the  next  instant.  "  Miss  Temple !" 
he  exclaimed.     "You  here!     Come  instantly — this  way!" 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  135 

"Shall  we  leave  the  Indian?"  she  asked. 

"Do  not  regard  him.  He  is  used  to  such  scenes.  Hasten, 
Miss  Temple.     Fly !     the  struggle  is  for  life  " 

They  sought  every  means  of  escape,  but  in  vain.  The 
whole  surrounding  mountain  seemed  enveloped  in  flame  and 
smoke.  Elizabeth,  nearly  overcome,  said:  "Leave  me,  Ed- 
wards.    Tell  my  father — my  poor,  bereaved  father — " 

"Leave  you!"  exclaimed  Edwards.  "Oh,  Miss  Temple, 
how  httle  you  have  known  me!  No,  no,  dearest  Elizabeth,  I 
may  die  with  you,  but  I  can  never  leave  you!" 

"Gal,  where  be  ye,  gal!"  shouted  a  voice,  and  Leather- 
Stocking  rushed  on  to  the  terrace,  his  deerskin  cap  gone,  and 
his  hair  burnt.  "Follow  me!  It's  a  matter  of  life  and  death 
for  us  all!" 

Natty  tried  to  arouse  the  Indian,  but  he  refused  to  stir. 
"The  Great  Spirit  says,  'Come!'     Let  Mohegan  die!" 

Deerslayer,  seeing  that  it  was  useless  to  say  more,  hastily 
threw  the  chief  on  his  back  and  led  the  way  through  an  open- 
ing in  the  rocks  to  a  terrace  below,  while  Edwards,  enveloping 
Miss  Temple  in  Natty's  deerskin,  followed  until  they  reached 
a  place  where  they  could  breathe  freely.  Natty  placed  the 
Indian  on  the  ground,  and  Elizabeth  sank  down,  her  heart  swell- 
ing with  conflicting  emotions. 

"I  feel  too  much  for  words,"  she  said,  raising  her  beaming 
eyes  to  Edwards's  face.  "I  am  grateful,  Oliver,  for  this  mirac- 
ulous escape;  and,  next  to  my  God,  to  you." 

The  little  platform  on  which  they  rested  was  hard  by  the 
cave  which  Judge  Temple  and  the  sheriff  had  visited  a  few 
days  before.  The  body  of  Chingachgook,  who  died  soon  after 
he  reached  a  place  of  safety,  was  carried  into  it;  and  this 
furnished  a  sufficient  reason  for  not  inviting  Miss  Temple  to 
take  shelter  within  though  rain  began  to  fall.  When  she  was 
sufficiently  recovered,  Oliver  conducted  her  down  to  the  road 
where  the  voices  of  men  in  search  of  her  were  heard.  Before 
parting,  Oliver  found  opportunity  to  say,  in  a  fervent  manner 
which  she  was  at  no  loss  to  understand: 

"The  moment  of  concealment  is  over.  Miss  Temple.  By 
this  time  to-morrow  I  shall  remove  a  veil  that  it  has  perhaps 
been  my  weakness  to  keep  around  me  and  my  affairs  so  long. 


136 


THE   PIONEERS 


God  bless  you!  I  hear  your  father's  voice  coming  up  the  road. 
Thank  Heaven,  you  arc  safe  again ! "  He  sprang  into  the  woods 
without  waiting  for  an  answer;  and  the  next  minute  she  was 
clasped  in  her  father's  arms 

Edwards  was  true  to  his  word.  On  the  following  day  the 
sheriff  with  a  posse  comitatus  went  up  the  mountain  prepared 
to  arrest  Natty  and  those  who  had  abetted  his  escape  from 
prison.  Leather-Stocking  was  ready  to  defend  the  entrance 
with  his  rifle  against  the  noisy  crowd,  when  Judge  Temple 
arri\'ed  on  the  ground,  and  soon  restored  peace.  As  soon 
as  quiet  was  gained,  Edwards  and  another  bore  out  of  the  cave 
the  figure  of  an  aged  man  seated  in  a  chair,  whom  they  set 
down  carefully  in  the  midst  of  the  assembly.  His  clothes, 
of  fine  material,  were  threadbare  and  patched,  and  his  feet  were 
covered  with  Indian  moccasins.  Long  snow-white  locks  fell 
over  a  grave  and  dignified  face,  but  his  vacant  eye,  which 
turned  from  one  to  another  of  the  bystanders,  too  surely  an- 
nounced the  mental  imbecility  of  childhood.  A  faint  smile 
crossed  his  wasted  face  as  he  said,  in  tremulous  tones: 

"Be  pleased  to  be  seated,  gentlemen;  I  pray  you,  be  seated. 
The  troops  shall  halt  for  the  night." 

"Who  is  this  man?"  asked  Marmaduke  in  a  hurried  voice. 

"This  man,"  returned  Edward  calmly,  "whom  you  behold 
hid  in  huts  and  caverns  and  deprived  of  everything  that  can 
make  life  desirable,  was  once  the  companion  and  counselor  of 
those  who  ruled  your  country,  and  the  owner  of  great  riches; 
this  man,  Judge  Temple,  was  the  rightful  proprietor  of  the  soil 
on  which  we  stand.     This  man  was  the  father  of — " 

"This,  then,"  cried  Marmaduke  with  emotion,  "is  the  lost 
Major  Effingham!   And  you ?  and  you ? " 

"I  am  his  grandson." 

A  minute  passed  in  silence.  Then  Marmaduke  grasped 
the  hand  of  the  youth  and  said: 

"Oliver,  I  forgive  all  thy  harshness — all  thy  suspicions.  I 
now  see  it  all.  I  forgive  thee  everything  but  suffering  this 
aged  man  to  dwell  in  such  a  place,  when  not  only  my  habita- 
tion, but  my  fortune,  were  at  his  and  thy  command." 

The  mystery  of  Natty's  cabin  and  its  inmates  was  easily 
explained.     Natty  Bumppo  had  been  a  servant  in  the  family 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  137 

of  Major  Effingham,  with  whom  he  had  served  many  years  in 
campaigns  in  the  West,  where  he  became  attached  to  the  woods; 
and  had  been  left  as  a  kind  of  locum  tenens  on  lands  that  old 
Mohegan  had  induced  the  Delawares  to  grant  the  Major 
when  he  was  admitted  an  honorary  member  of  the  tribe.  Major 
Effingham  had  been  adopted  by  Chingachgook,  then  the  great- 
est man  in  his  nation,  and  given  the  name  of  the  Eagle,  which 
led  to  his  grandson's  being  called  the  Young  Eagle,  this  con- 
stituting his  only  title  to  Indian  blood.  Judge  Temple  had  never 
seen  Major  Effingham,  the  father  of  his  friend  and  secret  part- 
ner, to  whom  he  was  so  deeply  indebted;  and  he  had  always 
supposed  that  the  latter,  as  well  as  his  son,  had  perished  by 
shipwreck  in  Nova  Scotia.  Major  Effingham  had  unaccount- 
ably disappeared  after  the  war,  and  Judge  Temple  had  long 
sought  him  in  vain,  little  dreaming  that  he  was  living  so  near 
him  in  the  hut  of  his  old  servant,  Natty  Bumppo.  When  all  was 
explained  and  the  Judge  announced  that  half  his  property  be- 
longed justly  to  Oliver,  tears  fell  from  the  eyes  of  the  young 
man  as  he  recognized  the  good  faith  of  Marmaduke. 

"Do  you  yet  doubt  us,  Oliver?"  asked  Elizabeth. 

"I  have  never  doubted  you!''  cried  he,  as  he  sprang  to  seize 
her  hand;  "no,  not  one  moment  has  my  faith  in  you  wavered." 

"And  my  father—" 

"God  bless  him!" 

"I  thank  thee,  my  son,"  said  the  Judge.  "But  we  have 
both  erred;  thou  hast  been  too  hasty,  and  I  have  been  too 
slow.  One  half  of  my  estates  shall  be  thine  as  soon  as  it  can 
be  conveyed  to  thee;  and  I  suppose  the  other,  if  my  suspicions 
prove  true,  will  speedily  follow." 

With  that  he  united  the  hand  he  held  with  that  of  Elizabeth. 


THE  PILOT  (1823) 

Falconer's  poem  entitled  The  Shipitrcck  (1760)  is  the  first  literary  attempt 
to  describe  life  at  sea  and  to  paint,  as  it  were,  the  career  of  a  ship  as  an  entity 
almost  endowed  with  the  attributes  of  a  living  creature.  Smollett's  so-called 
sea -stories  appeared  a  few  years  earlier,  and  Scott's  The  Pirate  was  published 
early  in  the  following  century;  but  the  ship,  as  such,  plays  only  a  subordinate 
part  in  those  tales.  It  was  not  until  1823  that  Cooper  published  the  immortal 
sea-romance  called  The  Pilot,  which  is  the  first  genuine  sea-story  ever  written, 
e.xceptitig,  of  course.  Falconer's  poem.  Cooper  served  six  years  in  the  United 
States  Na\'y,  and  his  very  soul  was  animated  with  a  love  for  ships  and  a  knowl- 
edge of  sea  life,  especially  on  ships  of  war.  It  is  a  little  singular  that  Cooper 
began  his  career  by  writing  land-stories,  and  the  idea  of  composing  a  sea-novel 
came  to  him  in  the  form  of  a  challenge  to  surpass  Scott's  Pirate,  which  he  main- 
tained was  merely  touched  by  a  flavor  of  the  sea,  a  story  written  by  a  landsman 
no  more  a  sailor  than  those  for  whom  he  wrote  The  Pilot,  which  met  with 
immediate  and  lasting  success.  The  pilot  whose  part  in  the  action  of  the  story 
gives  it  the  title  is  generally  understood  as  representing  John  Paul  Jones,  who 
made  marauding  descents  on  the  coast  of  England. 

!OWARD  the  close  of  a  sullen  day  in  December 
several  laborers  going  home  along  the  brow  of 
the  beethng  cliffs  of  the  northeastern  coast  of 
England  were  surprised  to  see  a  small  schooner 
and  a  frigate  wending  landward  among  the 
dangerous  shoals  of  those  waters.  While  they 
were  speculating  on  the  motives  that  would  lead 
the  strangers  to  take  such  risk,  the  frigate  hoisted 
the  well-known  colors  of  the  British  navy.  At 
once  the  wary  husbandmen  hastened  away  from  that  neighbor- 
hood, to  avoid  being  pressed  into  the  service. 

The  vessels  having  thrown  out  light  anchors,  each  de- 
spatched a  boat  to  land  with  all  possible  haste ;  for  as  night  drew 
on  the  offmg  looked  more  threatening,  and  a  storm  was  evi- 
dently brewing  that  would  attack  these  vessels  on  a  lee  shore. 
The  larger  boat  of  the  frigate  anchored  just  outside  the  line 
of  breakers  to  await  the  return  of  the  light,  buoyant  whale- 
boat  of  the  Ariel  schooner,  which  carried  her  commander, 
Lieutenant  Barnstable,  who  was  to  make  a  landing  at  the  foot 
of  the  cliff  and  bring  off  the  Pilot. 

138 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  139 

By  the  aid  of  Tom  Coffin,  a  huge,  raw-boned,  patriotic  old 
whaler,  Barnstable  gained  the  top  of  the  cliff,  where  he  met  a 
stem  stranger  of  small  speech  and  slightly  below  middle  height. 
Satisfactory  prearranged  passwords  having  been  exchanged, 
the  stranger  proved  to  be  the  Pilot  whom  Barnstable  sought, 
and  they  now  returned  to  the  whale-boat.  But  first  Barnstable 
met — perhaps  by  chance — Miss  Plowden,  his  fiancee,  who  was 
temporarily  staying  at  the  St.  Ruth's  Abbey  manor-house,  the 
residence  of  Colonel  Howard,  a  wealthy  Tory  of  South  Carolina, 
w^ho  had  fled  his  native  land  with  his  daughter,  two  wards,  his 
nieces,  one  of  whom  was  the  would-be  fiancee  of  Lieutenant 
Griffith,  first  officer  of  the  frigate,  once  in  British  service  and 
mortally  hated  by  Colonel  Howard.  The  other  was  equally 
interested  in  Barnstable.  By  a  singular  combination  of  events, 
Ahce  Dunscombe  was  also  at  the  Abbey  at  this  time,  said  Alice 
being  in  love  with  and  loved  by  the  Pilot,  although  not  likely  to 
marry  him,  as  she  was  an  uncompromising  loyalist  and  spurned 
the  hand  of  the  Pilot  because  of  the  transfer  of  his  allegiance  to 
the  rebellious  colonies  of  America.  These  ladies,  whose  roman- 
tic affections  were  thus  interwoven  with  the  destiny  of  the  two 
mysterious  vessels,  tended  somewhat  to  complicate  the  situation, 
and  to  distract  the  thoughts  of  Barnstable,  Griffith,  and  the 
Pilot,  but  otherwise  had  little  to  do  with  the  uhimate  result 
of  the  expedition  of  the  frigate  and  her  graceful  consort,  the 
lovely  schooner  Ariel. 

By  this  time  darkness  had  settled  over  land  and  sea;  a  very 
ominous  sky  was  brooding  over  the  ocean,  and  the  heavy 
ground  swell  was  rising  fast,  beating  on  the  reefs  with  a  hollow 
roar  that  filled  the  brave  crew  and  captain  with  dread  of  the 
fate  that  impended  when  they  should  try  to  find  their  way  out 
from  the  ill-chosen  berth  where  the  ships  were  pulling  at  their 
cables.  At  last  the  barge  arrived  under  charge  of  Griffith,  who 
had  brought  the  Pilot,  after  commanding  Barnstable  to  take  out 
the  Ariel  at  once  by  a  passage  impracticable  to  the  frigate, 
employing  sweeps,  or  long  oars  sometimes  used  by  small  ships 
until  the  wind  should  fill  the  sails. 

The  decks  of  the  frigate  were  lighted  with  battle-lanterns, 
which  showed  the  men  standing  in  groups  waiting  for  orders 
and  watching  with  anxious  curiosity  the  mysterious  and  to 


I40  THE   PILOT 

them  unknown  stranger  on  whose  good  faith,  knowledge,  and 
skill  depended  that  night  the  life  of  every  man  on  board.  Good 
old  Captain  Munson  knew  the  identity  of  the  Pilot,  but  it 
was  concealed  from  everyone  else  on  board,  and  it  was  not 
singular  that,  until  his  power  and  skill  to  command  had 
been  tested,  there  was  some  distrust  both  as  to  his  skill  and 
his  ability. 

Long  after  dark  the  frigate  lay  riding  to  her  anchor,  tossing 
on  the  rising  surge :  the  officers  and  crew  waited  at  their  posts 
impatient  to  get  away,  while  Captain  Munson  and  the  Pilot 
paced  the  quarter-deck  in  conference,  as  if  no  dread  task 
demanded  their  entire  attention.  The  flood  tide  had  not  yet 
turned,  but  there  was  still  a  remnant  of  the  land  wind  aloft,  and 
Griffith  at  last  ventured  to  suggest  that  they  might  try  to  work 
through  the  passage  with  even  that  scant  wind.  But  the  Pilot, 
with  calm  deliberation,  bade  them  await  his  orders. 

At  last,  when  the  impatience  of  all  became  manifest  and 
any  trifling  incident  might  hasten  an  end  to  the  suspense,  the 
chaplain,  who  was  chatting  with  the  captain  of  the  marines, 
made  a  remark  too  absurd  and  landlubberly  to  pass  even  with 
a  marine.  An  explosion  of  laughter  followed,  strangely  jarring 
on  the  solemnity  of  the  scene. 

This  checked  the  conference  between  the  Captain  and  the 
Pilot,  and  the  former,  coming  forward,  said  to  the  first  lieu- 
tenant: 

"Get  the  anchor,  Mr.  Griffith,  and  make  sail  on  the  ship; 
the  hour  has  arrived  when  we  must  be  moving." 

The  lieutenant  obeyed  the  order  with  alacrity,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment hundreds  of  men  were  laboring  at  the  anchor  or  springing 
all  over  the  rigging,  and  soon  the  anchor  was  a-trip,  that  is, 
ready  to  be  lifted  from  the  bottom,  and  the  spars  were  spread 
with  canvas.  The  light  western  breeze  held  for  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile,  and  then  completely  died  away.  The  frigate  began 
to  drift  astern  and  sidewise  out  of  control  and  toward  the 
shoals,  which  were  white  in  the  gloom  with  the  foam  of  the 
breakers  rolling  in  from  the  German  ocean.  A  candle  was 
lighted,  and  the  httle  flame  burned  steadily  in  a  line  with  the 
masts.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring.  Griffith,  who  held  it, 
was  about  to  put  it  out  when  he  felt  a  coolness  on  the  back  of  his 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  141 

hand.  Then  the  flame  began  to  turn  toward  the  land,  flickered, 
and  expired. 

Gripping  the  rail  of  the  poop,  the  Pilot's  voice  rang  out: 
"Lose  not  a  moment,  Mr.  Griffith,  clew  and  furl  everything 
but  your  three  topsails,  and  let  them  be  doubled-reefed.  Now 
is  the  time,  if  ever,  for  action." 

The  officer  sprang  to  obey  the  order  as  if  life  or  death 
depended  on  the  speed  of  the  crew  and  himself — and  so  it  did. 

A  fierce  gray  mist  like  smoke  appeared  rushing  over  the  sea, 
and  the  distinct  roar  of  the  wind  was  heard  tearing  with  fury 
toward  the  ship.  With  such  expedition  did  the  nimble  crew 
clew  up  and  furl  the  canvas  that  the  ship  was  prepared  for  the 
first  burst  of  the  tempest.  And  yet  when  it  struck  her  she 
lay  over  on  her  side  until  the  yard-arms  almost  touched  the 
water,  and  masses  of  sheeted  foam  swept  over  the  bow  as  she 
tore  over  the  sea  hke  a  frightened  steed. 

And  now  came,  in  earnest,  the  battle  that  was  to  decide 
the  fate  of  the  frigate  and  her  gallant  crew.  The  Pilot  had  to 
trust  to  his  memory  and  calculation  as  to  speed  and  soundings 
to  take  the  ship  through  narrow,  winding  channels  of  deep  water, 
beset  on  either  hand  by  reefs  over  which  the  surges  rolled  and 
blended  their  thunder  with  the  roar  of  the  wind.  He  had  to 
depend  alone  on  this  narrow  line  of  dark  water  winding  through 
the  foam,  and  the  soundings  constantly  taken  by  the  man  in  the 
main-chains  and  read  by  the  Captain  himself  as  the  lead  came 
up,  together  with  ceaseless  calculation  of  what  the  ship  was 
capable  of  in  this  emergency.  A  single  error  meant  irretrievable 
destruction,  c|uick  and  total. 

At  last  came  a  point  where  a  single  distant  light  must  be 
kept  clear  of  a  hill  lying  north  of  it.  If  the  ship  could  be  ma- 
neuvered to  do  this,  her  safety  was  assured;  but  if  not,  that  was 
the  end.  The  Pilot  said  that  ability  to  accomplish  this  depended 
on  setting  more  canvas.  The  Captain  and  officers  hesitated, 
for  she  was  already  under  press  of  sail  to  the  limit  of  safety. 

"It  is  that  or  death,"  replied  the  Pilot  in  his  calm  but  firm 
manner.     "She  is  already  dropping  yon  light  behind  the  hill." 

Therefore  the  order  rang  through  the  ship  to  set  the  huge 
mainsail  and  jib.  She  responded  to  this  increased  power,  even 
though  the  jib  was  soon  blown  away  like  the  fragment  of  a 


142  THE   PILOT 

cloud,  and  the  light  was  again  visible,  but  how  long  could  the 
spars  and  ever  the  ship  resist  the  violence  of  the  tempest? 
The  Pilot  himself  now  went  to  the  helm,  directing  the  quarter- 
master and  even  taking  the  spokes  with  his  own  hand.  But 
suddenly,  and  to  the  surprised  relief  of  all,  the  course  of  the 
frigate  was  changed.  She  was  turned  before  the  wind,  resumed 
her  upright  position,  and  ran  with  comparative  stability  before 
the  waves,  while  the  voice  of  the  Pilot  rang  out  cheerfully  the 
order: 

"Square  the  yards!  In  the  mainyard!" 

The  fact  was  that  by  dint  of  the  tremendous  skill,  coolness, 
and  effort  displayed  the  gallant  ship  had  at  last  cleared  the 
terrible  shoals  and  was  now  running  in  deep  water  on  the 
open  expanse  of  the  ocean.  Nothing  remained  to  do  until 
morning  but  to  divide  the  watches,  sending  one  below  to  tumble 
exhausted  and  yet  relieved  into  their  hammocks.  It  was  a 
triumph  so  marvelous,  so  nobly  won  by  the  Pilot,  that  Griffith, 
who  had  doubted  and  almost  resisted  his  orders,  came  up  to 
him,  shook  his  hand  warmly,  and  said: 

"You  have  this  night  proved  yourself  a  faithful  pilot,  and 
such  a  seaman  as  the  world  cannot  equal." 

After  sunrise  the  Ariel  was  descried  proceeding  under  easy 
sail  on  the  same  course  with  the  frigate,  and  Barnstable,  her 
commander,  was  signaled  to  come  on  board  the  frigate  to 
attend  a  council  of  war.  Although  the  sea  still  ran  high,  he 
was  able  to  do  this  in  his  buoyant  whale-boat  steered  by  the 
quaint  old  coxswain  Long  Tom  Coffin.  The  Pilot  took  no 
active  part  in  the  discussion  held  in  the  cabin,  but  he  was 
present  and  was  sometimes  consulted,  being  the  man  on  whose 
guidance,  owing  to  his  knowledge  of  the  region  and  people, 
much  depended  in  this  expedition  of  the  two  vessels  now  cruis- 
ing on  the  English  coast.  The  veteran  Captain  Munson  ex- 
plained to  the  officers  gathered  on  this  occasion  that  the  ships 
were  sent  out  by  the  Continental  commissioners  stationed  in 
Paris,  the  purpose  being  partly  for  political  effect,  and  partly 
to  capture  men  of  prominence  whose  duress  might  lead  the 
British  Government  to  modify  its  treatment  of  American 
prisoners.  To  arrange  specific  plans  to  reach  this  end  this 
council  had  been  called,  at  which  all  present  would  be  at  liberty 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPEP  143 

to  contribute  suggestions  and  advice.  After  an  amicable  salty 
discussion,  it  was  decided  to  land  parties  at  points  where  the 
mansions  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  were  particularly  exposed 
to  attack  by  the  enemy,  and  that  the  first  attack  would  be 
at  St.  Ruth's  Abbey  manor-house,  occupied  by  Colonel 
Howard  already  mentioned,  and  his  frequent  distinguished 
guests.  As  it  was  reported  that,  owing  to  the  proximity  of 
French  and  American  cruisers,  such  descents  were  probable, 
these  estates  were  sometimes  protected  by  small  detachments 
of  troops,  it  was  decided  to  add  twenty  marines  and  Manuel 
their  captain  to  the  naval  contingent;  Lieutenant  Griffith  was 
to  have  charge  of  the  expedition,  which  would  be  taken  to 
the  landing  by  the  schooner  under  Barnstable. 

The  results  of  this  expedition  would  have  been  reached  with 
much  less  of  anxiety  and  loss  of  liberty  and  life  but  for  the 
reckless  and  imprudent  leadership  of  Griffith,  who  was  urgent 
to  combine  two  objects,  the  capture  of  prominent  Britishers 
and  the  gaining  of  an  interview,  and  perhaps  achieving  the 
rescue  of  Katherine  Plowden,his  fairmistress,  from  the  guardian- 
ship or,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  the  bondage  of  her  uncle. 

After  landing,  Griffith,  Manuel,  and  the  Pilot  set  out  on  a 
scouting  expedition,  disguised  as  plain  seafaring  folk.  In  his 
impetuousness  Griffith  influenced  his  companions  to  neglect 
the  most  ordinary  prudence.  Hence  they  were  seen,  seized, 
and  confined  at  St.  Ruth's  Abbey  until  they  could  be  more 
carefully  examined  by  Captain  Burroughcliffe,  commander 
of  the  troops  protecting  the  Abbey,  and  either  impressed, 
shot,  or  hanged,  as  might  best  serve  the  interests  of  his 
Majesty. 

They  were  seen  and  recognized  by  Katherine  Plowden  and 
Dillon,  a  cowardly,  dishonorable  lawyer,  cousin  of  Katherine, 
in  love  with  her  and  her  fortune,  and  mortally  jealous  of  Griffith. 
The  easy-going,  good-natured  Burroughcliffe,  when  in  the 
secondary  stage  of  after-dinner  potations,  took  it  into  his  head 
to  visit  his  prisoners,  pooh-poohed  the  caution  of  Dillon,  and 
carelessly  allowed  Manuel  and  the  Pilot  to  escape.  Surmising 
that  they  would  naturally  make  directly  for  the  schooner's 
boat,  Dillon  mounted  horse  and  made  desperate  haste  to  put 
the  war- cutter  Alacrity,  then  lying  in  a  neighboring  bay,  on 


144  THE   PILOT 

their  line  of  escape.  Calling  for  volunteers  from  the  seafaring 
people  in  the  neighborhood,  including  the  furious  Dillon  him- 
self, her  captain  put  to  sea  with  a  large  force,  sighted  the  boat 
with  the  runaways  and  Barnstable,  and  having  a  smart  breeze 
was  overhauling  them  fast  when  the  AriePs  people,  hearing  the 
firing  of  guns,  hoisted  anchor  and  sails,  and  appeared  around 
the  point,  picked  up  the  whale-boat,  and  stood  toward  the  cutter 
with  all  her  guns  shotted  and  manned.  A  severe  battle  ensued, 
each  trying  to  board  the  other,  until  Long  Tom  Coffin  managed 
to  pin  the  poor  captain  of  the  cutter  to  the  mast  with  his  whaler's 
harpoon.  Aghast  at  this  frightful  tragedy,  the  cutter's  crew 
surrendered. 

The  Pilot  did  not  go  on  board  after  his  escape,  but,  putting 
on  an  effectual  disguise,  busied  himself  with  preparing  new 
plans  for  seizing  the  people  he  now  knew  from  his  own  observa- 
tions to  be  occupying  St.  Ruth's  Abbey.  The  squad  of 
marines  had  been  discovered  in  their  hiding-place  by  Bur- 
roughcliffe  during  these  operations,  and  were  all  either  slain 
or  captured. 

With  a  confidence  more  creditable  to  his  heart  than  to 
his  head,  Barnstable,  believing  in  Dillon's  word  of  honor  as  a 
gentleman,  despatched  him  by  boat  to  St.  Ruth's  Abbey  in 
keeping  of  Long  Tom  Coffin,  the  coxswain,  on  condition  that 
if  Griffith  were  not  exchanged  for  him,  then  he  (Dillon)  would 
return  to  the  schooner.  But  as  soon  as  Dillon  reached  the 
Abbey  he  disregarded  his  promises,  and,  being  ashamed  to  do 
it  himself,  directed  Burroughcliffe  to  inform  the  coxswain  that 
he  was  under  arrest  with  the  probable  alternative  of  hanging 
or  serving  in  the  British  navy.  Being  of  an  ingenuous  nature, 
Burroughcliffe  made  this  announcement  regretfully  and  in  his 
own  private  room  without  any  assistance  within  call.  Great 
was  his  amazement,  therefore,  when  Long  Tom  suddenly  seized 
him  by  the  shoulder  with  his  grip  of  iron  and  bound  him  fast, 
hand  and  foot,  to  the  bedpost  with  a  lot  of  cordage  he  drew  out 
of  his  capacious  seaman's  pockets.  He  then  put  a  gag  in 
Burroughcliffe's  mouth.  Turning  the  key  of  the  door  and 
secreting  it  in  his  pocket,  the  coxswain  then  passed  along  the 
winding  hall  until,  the  door  being  ajar,  he  found  Dillon  and 
Colonel  Howard  taking  a  night-cap  in  the  dining-room,  for  it 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  145 

was  now  late.  When  Howard  retired  through  the  door  opposite 
the  open  one  where  Coffin  was  watching,  the  coxswain  entered, 
closed  the  door  and  seized  Dillon,  bound  his  arms  tight  behind 
his  back,  swung  him,  blanched  with  terror,  over  his  huge 
shoulders  as  he  would  a  baby,  and  carried  him  off  to  the  boat 
with  no  pretense  of  pity  or  gentleness.  The  reception  which 
Barnstable  gave  to  Dillon  when  the  wretch  appeared  again 
on  the  Ariel  was  very  far  from  satisfactory  to  that  gentle- 
man. 

The  A  riel  put  to  sea  at  once,  as  a  heavy  gale  was  coming 
on  and  it  was  a  question,  indeed,  whether  she  had  not  already 
lingered  too  long  to  weather  the  coast  and  reach  deep  water, 
even  under  press  of  sail.  The  storm  increased  rapidly,  and  at 
its  height  the  mainsail  on  which  they  depended  especially  to 
claw  off  a  lee  shore  was  blown  to  ribbons  and  flew  away  like 
smoke.  The  anchors  were  got  overboard  without  delay,  but 
the  powerful  cables  of  hemp  were  soon  chafed  by  the  rocky 
bottom  and  parted.  Borne  on  the  crest  of  the  tremendous 
breakers  and  reft  of  her  spars,  the  little  Ariel  drove  madly 
toward  the  rocks.  Nothing  was  left  to  do  but  to  put  up  the 
helm  and  try  to  beach  her,  bow  on.  But  ere  she  could  reach 
the  shore  she  struck  a  ledge  amidships  that  broke  her  back. 
The  next  rollers  swept  everything  off  her  decks  and  wrenched 
the  graceful  hull  to  fragments.  Long  Tom  Coffin,  Dillon,  and 
most  of  the  prisoners  and  crew  were  lost.  Barnstable  with  a 
few  of  his  men  alone  escaped.  In  due  course  they  managed  to 
get  back  to  the  cutter  Alacrity,  which,  with  a  prize  crew,  was 
in  temporary  command  of  Mr.  Boltrope. 

Very  soon  after  these  events,  such  was  the  secret  efficiency 
of  the  Pilot  that  a  large  force  of  sailors  and  marines  was  quietly 
landed  two  miles  from  St.  Ruth's  Abbey,  carried  the  place  late 
at  night,  and  captured  every  person  they  found,  including  the 
guard  of  soldiers;  all  the  prisoners,  with  Colonel  Howard  and 
the  two  ladies,  were  transferred  to  the  Alacrity.  The  following 
day  the  frigate  hove  in  sight  and  Colonel  Howard  and  his 
lovely  wards  were  awarded  staterooms  in  that  ship. 

The  next  morning  the  weather  was  fine,  but  the  water  was 
hidden  by  a  heavy  fog  which  rose  in  magnificent  sunlit  masses 
as  the  sun  climbed  higher.  Everything  promised  well,  when 
A.D.,  VOL.  V. — 10 


146  THE   PILOT 

the  muffled  sound  of  firing  was  heard  in  continuous  peals, 
evidently  to  give  warning  to  friends.  Everyone  assumed  that 
it  came  from  the  Alacrity,  and  this  conclusion  was  confirmed 
w'hen,  above  the  fog,  appeared  the  upper  sails  of  a  very  large 
ship  of  war  coming  down  before  a  fresh  breeze.  A  further 
clearing  of  the  fog  revealed  a  huge  line-of-battle  ship.  All 
hands  were  beat  to  quarters  on  the  frigate,  and  every  preparation 
was  made  both  to  fly  from  so  unequal  an  antagonist,  and  to 
fight,  if  necessary.  Some  very  pretty  maneuvering  followed, 
in  which  the  pursuer  succeeded  in  planting  a  broadside  against 
the  frigate  before  she  got  out  of  range.  Gray-haired  Captain 
Alunson  was  fairly  blown  overboard  by  this  terrible  hail  of  iron 
just  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  giving  an  order.  But  although 
able  to  distance  the  clumsier  line-of-battle  ship,  the  frigate 
was  surrounded  by  three  other  frigates  converging  on  her  so 
that  it  seemed  impossible  that  she  could  escape.  Griffith, 
who  was  now  in  command,  with  the  Pilot  at  his  side,  decided 
to  await  the  nearest  and  by  far  the  smallest  of  the  three,  and  by 
skilful  management  was  able  to  dismast  and  disable  her.  But 
there  remained  the  two  other  pursuers  now  rapidly  approaching, 
and  the  doom  of  the  American  frigate  seemed  close  at  hand, 
when  the  channel  opened  before  her  through  which  the  Pilot 
had  taken  her  at  night,  as  described  in  the  beginning  of  this 
tale.  Immediately  he  turned  her  into  the  passage  he  knew  so 
well,  and  by  doing  so  gained  fifteen  miles  on  his  pursuers,  as 
no  one  but  he  among  them  all  could  pilot  a  ship  among  that 
network  of  shoals. 

As  soon  as  the  frigate  was  out  of  danger  her  chaplain  was 
summoned  to  the  cabin.  Colonel  Howard,  who  in  the  midst 
of  the  fighting  indulged  in  unseemly  delight  at  the  approaching 
defeat  of  the  American  ship,  had  been  struck  down  by  a  cannon 
shot  and  lay  dying.  As  his  end  drew  near  he  seemed  to  gain  new 
light  on  the  plans  of  Providence.  He  said  perhaps  Heaven 
purposed  the  success  of  the  colonies,  if  one  might  judge  by  the 
ships  they  build  and  the  heroism  and  skill  they  show  in  sailing 
and  battling  with  them.  In  any  case,  in  this  his  last  hour  he 
did  not  purpose  to  defy  Providence  or  stand  in  the  way  of  the 
happiness  of  his  wards,  who  now  had  his  willing  consent  to 
their  marriage,  and  the  chaplain  was  requested  to  perform  the 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  147 

wedding  ceremony  of  Katherine  Plowden  and  Cecilia  Howard 
to  Griffith  and  Barnstable.  The  following  day  the  remains  of 
the  unfortunate  Colonel  were  consigned  to  the  deep.  The 
Pilot,  having  accomplished  all  that  was  possible  on  this  cruise, 
since  the  enemies  were  now  aware  of  the  presence  of  the 
American  ships  in  British  waters,  took  farewell  of  the  frigate, 
which  trimmed  her  canvas  for  home. 


LIONEL  LINCOLN;  OR,  THE  LEAGUER  OF  BOSTON 

(1825) 

This  melodramatic  talc  was  a  great  favorite  in  its  day,  and  formed  the 
foundation  of  a  play  called  The  Leaguer  oj  Boston. 

ACING  the  deck  of  a  ship  entering  the  port  of 
Boston  one  evening  in  April,  1775,  was  an  old 
man,  with  a  bowed  and  attenuated  form  and 
hair  silvered  by  at  least  eighty  winters,  but  whose 
quick,  vigorous  steps  and  flashing  eyes  appeared 
to  deny  the  indications  of  his  years.  He  wore  a 
simple  and  somewhat  tarnished  suit  of  gray, 
which  bore  the  marks  of  long  use  and  neglect. 
As  he  walked  the  deserted  quarter-deck  engrossed 
with  his  own  thoughts,  his  lips  moved  rapidly,  though  no  sound 
issued  from  his  mouth,  and  he  cast  piercing  looks  at  the  shores. 
As  the  vessel  neared  the  harbor,  a  young  man  of  about  twenty- 
five  years,  wearing  a  military  cloak,  came  on  deck,  and,  encoun- 
tering the  eyes  of  the  restless  old  man,  bowed  courteously  before 
turning  to  the  view.  The  rounded  heights  of  Dorchester  were 
still  radiant  with  the  setting  sun,  whose  beams  lay  on  the  waters 
and  illumined  the  forts  and  ships  over  which  waved  England's 
flag.  Simultaneous  with  the  reports  of  the  evening  guns,  the 
proud  symbols  of  British  power  came  fluttering  down.  While 
watching  this  scene,  the  young  man  felt  his  arm  pressed  by 
the  hand  of  his  aged  fellow  passenger. 

"Will  the  day  ever  arrive,"  he  asked,  in  a  low,  hollow  voice, 
"when  those  flags  shall  be  lowered,  never  to  rise  again  in  this 
hemisphere  ?  " 

The  young  soldier  turned  his  quick  eyes  on  the  speaker,  but 
instantly  bent  them  on  the  deck  to  avoid  his  keen,  searching 
glance.  After  a  moment  of  painful  silence,  "Tell  me,"  he  said, 
"you  who  are  of  Boston,  the  names  of  the  places  I  see." 

148 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  149 

"  And  are  you  not  of  Boston,  too  ?  "  asked  his  old  companion. 

"Certainly,  by  birth,  but  an  Englishman  by  habit  and 
education." 

"Accursed  be  the  habits,  and  neglected  the  education, 
which  would  teach  a  child  to  forget  its  parentage!"  muttered 
the  old  man,  turning  suddenly  and  walking  away. 

When  the  officer  went  ashore,  he  found  the  old  gentleman 
in  the  same  landing-boat,  to  the  disgust  of  his  valet  Meriton, 
who  spoke  of  his  garments  as  a  filthy  bundle  of  rags.  "  Enough 
of  this,"  interrupted  his  master,  a  httle  angrily;  "the  company 
is  such  as  I  am  content  with." 

When  they  reached  the  landing,  the  officer  said:  "Here  we 
must  part,  sir,  but  I  trust  the  acquaintance  thus  accidentally 
formed  is  not  to  be  forgotten,  now  there  is  an  end  to  our  common 
privations." 

"It  is  not  in  the  power  of  a  man  whose  days,  like  mine,  are 
numbered,"  said  the  stranger,  "to  mock  the  hberality  of  his  God 
by  any  vain  promises.  I  am  one,  young  gentleman,  who  has 
returned  from  a  sad  pilgrimage  in  the  other  hemisphere,  to 
lay  his  bones  in  this  his  native  land;  but  should  many  hours 
be  granted  me,  you  will  hear  further  of  the  man  whom  your 
courtesy  and  kindness  have  so  greatly  obliged." 

The  officer,  sensibly  affected,  pressed  his  wasted  hand 
fervently  as  he  answered: 

"Do;  I  ask  it  as  a  singular  favor.  I  know  not  why — 'tis  a 
mystery — I  feel  that  I  not  only  venerate  but  love  you." 

The  old  man  held  him  at  arm's  length  a  moment,  while 
he  fastened  on  him  a  look  of  glowing  interest;  then,  pointing 
impressively  upward,  said: 

"'Tis  from  heaven,  and  for  God's  own  purposes;  smother 
not  the  sentiment,  boy,  but  cherish  it  in  your  heart's  core!" 

They  were  interrupted  by  violent  shrieks,  mingled  with 
blows  of  a  lash,  and  rude  oaths.  All  within  hearing  ran  toward 
the  cries  and  found  a  group  of  soldiers  around  a  man,  whom  they 
were  beating. 

"Mercy!  for  the  sake  of  the  blessed  God,  have  mercy,  and 
don't  kill  Job!"  shrieked  the  sufferer.  "Job  will  run  your 
arr'nds!    Mercy  on  poor  Job!" 

"  What  means  this  outcry  ?    Why  is  this  man  thus  abused  ?  " 


I50  LIONEL   LINCOLN 

demanded  the  young  man,  arresting  the  arm  of  an  infuriated 
soldier. 

"By  what  authority  dare  you  lay  hands  on  a  British  grena- 
dier?" cried  the  fellow,  turning  in  fury  and  raising  his  lash 
against  the  supposed  townsman.  But  when  he  caught  sight  of 
the  officer's  uniform,  he  said  in  a  humble,  deprecating  tone: 
''We  was  just  polishing  this  'ere  natural,  because  he  won't 
drink  the  health  of  his  Majesty." 

"Job  loves  the  King,  but  Job  don't  love  rum!"  cried  the 
youth,  with  the  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks. 

"I  see  you  belong  to  the  47th,"  said  the  officer,  showing  the 
button  of  the  same  regiment  on  his  sleeve.  "Ye  are  noble 
supporters  of  the  fame  of  Wolfe's  own.  Away  with  ye!  To- 
morrow it  shall  be  looked  to." 

The  disconcerted  soldiers  slunk  away,  and  the  officer, 
turning  to  a  bystander,  asked  the  reason  of  the  trouble. 

"The  boy  is  weak,"  replied  he,  "quite  an  innocent,  who 
knows  but  little  good,  but  does  no  harm.  The  soldiers  sport 
with  his  infirmity.  If  these  doings  a'n't  checked,  I  fear  trouble 
will  grow  out  of  them.  Hard  laws  from  t'other  side  of  the 
water,  and  tarring  and  feathering  on  this — " 

"It  is  wisest  for  us,  my  friend,"  interrupted  the  officer,  "to 
pursue  this  subject  no  farther.  Know  ye  the  dwelling  of  Mrs. 
Lechmere?" 

"The  house  is  well  known  to  all  in  Boston.  Job  will  show 
you  the  way,  won't  you,  Job?" 

"Ma'am  Lechmere's!  Job  could  go  there  blindfolded  if — 
if—" 

"If  what,  simpleton?" 

"Why,  if  'twas  daylight." 

"  Do  but  hear  the  silly  child.  Come,  Job,  you  must  take  this 
gentleman  to  Tremont  Street  without  further  words." 

"Job  will  show  the  officer  Ma'am  Lechmere's,  if  the  officer 
won't  let  the  grannies  catch  Job  afore  he  gets  off  the  North 
End  ag'in." 

Assured  on  this  point,  Job  led  the  party  through  many  nar- 
row streets  and  crooked  alleys,  pointing  out  Faneuil  Hall  and 
other  buildings  on  the  way,  and  descanting  on  the  glories 
of    Boston,    until   the    officer,    beginning  to   get   angry,    ex- 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  151 

claimed,  "Sirrah,  we  have  loitered  until  the  clocks  are  striking 
eight!" 

"Now  you  make  me  forget  the  road,"  exclaimed  Job. 
"Let's  go  in  and  ask  old  Nab;  she  knows  the  way." 

"  Old  Nab !  you  wilful  dolt !    WTio  is  Nab  ?  " 

"Everybody  in  Boston  knows  Abigail  Pray." 

"What  of  her?"  asked  the  startling  voice  of  the  old  man. 
"What  of  Abigail  Pray,  boy?" 

"Nab  lives  in  the  old  ware'us,  and  a  good  place  it  is,  too. 
Job  and  his  mother  have  each  a  room  to  sleep  in,  and  they 
say  the  King  and  Queen  haven't  more." 

"Let  us  see  this  Abigail  Pray,"  cried  the  stranger,  seizing 
Job  by  the  arm  and  leading  him  through  the  low  door. 

The  officer,  impelled  by  curiosity  at  the  old  man's  move- 
ments, followed  and,  through  the  open  door  of  a  room,  heard 
the  sharp  tones  of  a  woman's  voice: 

"Where  have  you  been,  graceless?  I  have  been  waiting  for 
you  to  go  to  Madame  Lechmere's  to  tell  her  of  the  arrival  of 
the  ship." 

"Don't  be  cross,  mother.  I  do  beheve  that  Ma'am  Lech- 
mere  has  moved;  I  been  trying  to  find  her  house  this  hour  for 
this  gentleman  who  come  off  the  ship." 

"I  am  the  person  expected  by  Mrs  Lechmere,"  said  the 
officer,  coming  forward.  "Your  son  has  led  me  by  a  circuitous 
path—" 

"Excuse  the  witless  child,"  said  the  woman,  eying  the 
officer  keenly  through  her  spectacles;  "he  knows  the  way  well, 
but  he  is  wilful  at  times.  This  will  be  a  joyful  night  in  Tremont 
Street,  sir."  Then,  half-unconsciously,  as  she  held  up  the 
candle  to  inspect  his  features,  "he  has  the  sweet  smile  of  the 
mother,  and  the  terrible  eye  of  his  father." 

"You  know  me  and  my  family,  then?" 

"I  was  at  your  birth,  young  gentleman,  and  a  joyful  birth 
it  was!  But  Madame  Lechmere  waits  for  you.  Job,  show  the 
gentleman  to  Tremont  street  directly.  You  know,  my  son, 
you  love  to  go  to  Madame  Lechmere's." 

"Job  would  never  go,  if  Job  could  help  it,"  muttered  the 
boy  sullenly;  "and  if  Nab  had  never  gone,  'twould  have  been 
better  for  her  soul." 


152  LIONEL  LINCOLN 

"Do  you  dare,  disrespectful  viper!"  exclaimed  the  angry 
woman,  seizing  the  tongs  as  if  to  strike  him. 

"Woman,  peace!"  said  a  voice  behind. 

The  weapon  fell  from  her  hands,  and  her  yellow  and  withered 
countenance  took  the  hue  of  death.  "Who  speaks?"  she  mut- 
tered after  a  moment's  silence. 

"It  is  I/'  said  the  stranger,  coming  into  the  light,  "a  man 
who  knows  that  as  God  loves  him,  so  is  he  bound  to  love  the 
children  of  his  loins." 

The  woman  sank  in  her  chair  and  her  eyes  rolled  from  the 
face  of  one  visitor  to  the  other,  while  she  seemed  to  have  lost 
the  power  of  speech.  Job  stole  to  the  side  of  the  old  man  and, 
looking  up  piteously  in  his  face,  said: 

"Don't  hurt  old  Nab.  She'll  never  strike  Job  with  the 
tongs  ag'in,  will  you  mother?" 

The  officer  now  expressed  his  desire  to  go,  and  turning  to 
the  stranger,  who  stood  in  the  doorway,  said:  "Precede  me, 
sir;  the  hour  grows  late,  and  you  too  may  need  a  guide  to  reach 
your  dwelling." 

"The  streets  of  Boston  have  long  been  familiar  to  me," 
said  the  old  man.  "It  matters  not  under  what  roof  I  lay  my 
head;  this  will  do  as  well  as  another.  Go  to  your  palace  in 
Tremont  Street;  it  shall  be  my  care  that  we  meet  again." 

The  officer,  understanding  his  character  too  well  to  hesitate, 
quitted  the  miserable  apartment,  leaving  the  amazed  matron 
gazing  at  her  unexpected  guest  with  a  wonder  that  was  not 
unmingled  with  dread. 

Major  Lionel  Lincoln,  whose  return  to  his  native  Boston 
was  thus  attended  by  mysteries,  found  more  mysteries  when 
he  reached  the  mansion  of  his  great-aunt,  Mrs.  Lechmere, 
whom  he  found  living  with  her  granddaughter,  Cecil  Dynevor, 
and  her  grandniece,  Agnes  Danforth.  The  old  lady  received 
him  courteously  but  with  a  certain  nervousness  which  betrayed 
some  hidden  anxiety.  She  sent  Agnes  from  the  room  to  call 
Cecil,  and,  as  soon  as  the  door  closed  upon  her,  said  in  a  choked 
and  husky  voice,  while  her  color  changed  and  her  lips  trembled: 
"  I  may  have  appeared  remiss.  Cousin  Lionel,  but — Sir  Lionel— 
you  left  him  in  as  good  a  state  of  health,  I  hope,  as  his  mental 
illness  will  allow?" 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  153 

*'It  was  so  represented  to  me." 

"You  have  seen  him  lately?" 

"Not  in  fifteen  years.  My  presence  was  said  to  increase 
his  disorder,  and  the  physicians  forbade  more  interviews.  He 
is  still  at  the  private  establishment  near  town,  and  as  his  lucid 
intervals  are  thought  to  increase,  I  often  indulge  in  the  pleasing 
hope  that  he  may  again  be  restored  to  us." 

A  painful  silence  succeeded  this  expressed  hope,  and  at 
last  Mrs.  Lechmere  said:  "I  will  retire  a  few  moments,  with 
your  indulgence,  and  hasten  the  appearance  of  my  grandchild. 
I  pine  that  you  may  meet." 

Cecil  D)Tievor  entered  almost  immediately  and  greeted  her 
cousin  cordially.  "My  grandmother  has  long  been  expecting 
this  pleasure,  Major  Lincoln,"  she  said,  "and  your  arrival 
has  been  at  a  most  auspicious  moment.  The  state  of  the  country 
grows  so  alarming  that  I  have  long  urged  her  to  visit  our 
relatives  in  England  until  disputes  here  shall  have  terminated." 

"If  half  I  have  heard  from  a  fellow  passenger  of  the  state  of 
the  country  be  true,"  he  answered,  "I  shall  be  foremost  in 
seconding  your  request.  Both  Ravenscliffe  and  the  house  in 
Soho  would  be  greatly  at  the  service  of  Mrs.  Lechmere." 

"  I  perceive.  Cousin  Lionel,"  said  Mrs.  Lechmere,  reentering, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  Agnes,  "that  you  and  Cecil  have  found 
each  other  out.    But  here  is  Cato  with  the  tea." 

The  old  servant  placed  a  small  table  before  Miss  Dynevor 
and  set  on  it  a  salver  of  massive  silver  with  an  equipage  of  the 
finest  Dresden  china.  The  refusal  of  Miss  Danforth,  whose 
sympathies  were  with  her  countrymen,  to  drink  tea  led  the 
conversation  on  the  inhibited  beverage,  during  which  she 
remarked  that  Job  Pray  had  called  Boston  harbor  a  big  teapot. 

"You  know  Job  Pray,  then.  Miss  Danforth?"  asked  Lionel, 
amused  by  her  spirit. 

"Boston  is  so  small  and  Job  so  useful  that  everybody 
knows  the  simpleton." 

"He  belongs  to  a  distinguished  family,  then,  for  I  have 
his  own  assurance  that  everybody  knows  his  mother,  Abigail." 

"What  can  you  know,"  exclaimed  Cecil,  "of  poor  Job  and 
his  almost  equally  unfortunate  mother?" 

"Now,  young  ladies,  I  have  you  in  my  snare!"  cried  Lionel. 


154  LIONEL  LINCOLN 

"But  I  will  not  inflame  your  curiosity  further  than  to  say  that  I 
have  already  had  an  interview  with  Mrs.  Pray." 

A  slight  crash  and  a  piece  of  the  Dresden  china  lay  shattered 
on  the  floor  at  Mrs.  Lechmere's  feet. 

"My  dear  grandmamma  is  ill!"  cried  Cecil,  running  to 
her  assistance.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  a  glass  of  water — Agnes, 
your  salts." 

"You  will  mistake  me  for  a  sad  invalid.  Cousin  Lionel," 
said  the  old  lady,  when  she  became  a  little  composed,  "but  I 
believe  this  tea,  which  I  drink  from  excess  of  loyalty,  unsettles 
my  nerves." 

Leaning  on  her  two  assistants,  the  old  lady  withdrew,  and 
Major  Lincoln  soon  retired  to  his  own  apartment,  where  he 
meditated  long  on  the  events  of  the  day  and  the  several  incidents 
which  seemed  to  have  some  intimate  but  inexplicable  connection. 

The  next  morning,  Sunday,  he  was  still  more  mystified,  on 
walking  up  Beacon  Hill,  to  find  Job  Pray  seated  on  a  step  of 
the  beacon,  singing  a  snatch  of  a  song  then  common  about 
"p'ison  tea,"  showing  that  the  imbecile  was  thoroughly  in 
accord  with  the  sentiments  of  his  countrymen. 

"How  now,  Master  Pray;  do  you  come  here  to  sing  your 
orisons  to  the  goddess  of  liberty  on  a  Sunday  morning?" 

Job  shook  his  head,  as  he  looked  up  and  said,  "Don't  you 
let  Ralph  hear  you  say  anything  ag'in  liberty!" 

"Ralph!  who  is  he,  lad?  Where  do  you  keep  him  that 
there  is  danger  of  his  overhearing  what  I  say  ?  " 

"He's  up  there  in  the  fog,"  said  Job,  pointing  toward  the 
foot  of  the  beacon,  which  was  enveloped  in  mist. 

Lionel  looked  up  and  saw  the  dim  figure  of  his  aged  fellow 
passenger,  still  in  his  soiled  gray  garments. 

"Come  hither,  Lionel  Lincoln,"  he  called,  "to  the  foot  of 
this  beacon,  where  you  may  gather  warnings  which,  if  properly 
heeded,  will  guide  you  through  many  and  great  dangers  un- 
harmed." 

"You  look  like  a  being  of  another  world,"  said  Lionel, 
"  wrapped  in  that  mantle  of  fog." 

"  Am  I  not  a  being  of  another  world  ?  Most  of  my  interests 
are  in  the  grave,  and  I  tarry  here  only  for  a  space,  because  there 
is  a  great  work  to  be  done  which  cannot  be  done  without  me." 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  155 

Lionel  expressed  the  hope  that  he  had  not  been  subjected 
to  inconvenience  in  Job's  home. 

"The  boy  is  a  good  boy,"  said  the  old  man,  stroking  Job's 
head.  "We  understand  each  other,  Major  Lincoln,  and  that 
shortens  introductions." 

"That  you  feel  ahke  on  one  subject  I  have  already  dis- 
covered," replied  Lionel. 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of 
Captain  Polwarth,  an  old  friend  and  officer  of  the  47th,  who 
welcomed  Major  Lincoln  cordially  to  Boston.  His  arrival 
was  the  signal  for  the  departure  of  Ralph  and  Job,  and  the 
two  officers  descended  the  hill  in  earnest  conversation  in  which 
Lincoln  picked  up  the  military  news  and  learned  that  his  friend 
was  in  love  with  his  cousin,  Agnes  Danforth.  He  and  Polwarth 
had  been  together  at  Oxford  and  for  many  years  comrades  in 
the  same  regiment,  and  were  therefore  on  the  footing  of  old 
friends.  An  arrangement  was  soon  made  by  which  Polwarth, 
who  was  an  adept  in  culinary  matters,  should  superintend 
their  mess  in  quarters  near  Mrs.  Lechmere's,  while  Lionel 
still  retained  his  sleeping-apartment  in  her  mansion. 

After  this,  Major  Lincohi  was  continually  meeting  the  old 
man  whom  Job  called  Ralph.  One  stormy  night  he  found  him 
in  his  own  sleeping-room  attentively  reading  a  letter  written 
by  himself,  which  he  had  left  open  on  his  table.  The  old  man 
hastened  to  excuse  himself  for  this  apparent  breach  of  faith, 
and  with  tears  in  his  eyes  avowed  that  en  interest  in  his  affairs, 
which  Lionel  could  not  understand  and  which  could  not  yet 
be  explained,  justified  his  act. 

In  the  night  march  to  Lexington  and  Concord  Major  Lincoln, 
who  had  not  yet  been  assigned  to  service,  went  as  a  volunteer. 
In  that  memorable  retreat  he  saw  among  the  "embattled  farm- 
ers "  both  Ralph  and  Job,  and  his  life  was  saved  by  the  old  man, 
who  beat  up  the  firearms  of  several  Americans  when  orders 
had  gone  forth  to  pick  off  that  mounted  officer.  At  the  same 
time  the  bridle  of  Lionel's  horse  was  seized  by  Job,  who  said 
earnestly,  "If  Major  Lincoki  will  ride  straight  down  the  hill, 
the  people  won't  fire  for  fear  of  hitting  Job;  and  when  Job 
fires,  he'll  shoot  that  granny  who's  getting  over  the  wall." 

Lionel  rode  with  desperate  speed  down  the  slight  declivity, 


156  LIONEL  LINCOLN 

amid  the  shouts  of  the  Americans,  hearing  the  whizzing  of  the 
bullet  which  Job  sent,  as  he  had  promised,  in  a  direction  to  do 
him  no  harm.    The  next  day  he  saw  both  in  Boston  once  more. 

Again,  when  Major  Lincoln  volunteered  for  the  last  charge 
up  Breed's  Hill,  over  ground  thick  with  the  bodies  of  the  King's 
troops,  he  saw  Job  among  his  countrymen  using  a  musket  as 
if  he  well  understood  how  to  manage  it.  Captain  Polwarth 
lost  a  leg  in  the  battle  and  Major  Lincoln  was  so  severely 
wounded  that  he  was  confined  to  his  bed  many  weeks.  As  soon 
as  he  was  recovered  he  asked  Mrs.  Lechmere  for  the  hand  of 
her  granddaughter,  and  the  old  lady  not  only  acceded  to  his 
request,  but  suggested  an  immediate  marriage,  and  it  was 
decided  that  the  ceremony  should  take  place  that  very  evening 
in  King's  Chapel. 

The  night  set  in  stormy  with  snow  falling.  By  Lincoln's 
arrangement,  Polwarth  was  to  take  the  ladies  to  the  church 
in  a  covered  sleigh,  and  the  Major  was  to  meet  them  there. 
The  sexton  had  taken  the  smallpox  and  the  fires  were  low,  and 
Major  Lincoln,  unable  to  get  other  assistance  on  so  stormy 
a  night,  brought  Job  Pray.  He  explained  to  him  that  he  was 
to  marry  Miss  Dynevor,  and  asked  him  to  remain  after  the 
ceremony  to  extinguish  the  lights  and  return  the  key  to  the 
rector. 

Job  put  on  an  air  of  singular  importance  as  he  answered: 
"Major  Lincoln  is  to  be  married,  and  he  asks  Job  to  the 
wedding!  Now,  Nab  may  preach  her  sermons  about  pride  as 
much  as  she  will;  but  blood  is  blood,  and  flesh  is  flesh,  for  all 
her  sayings!" 

Major  Lincoln  demanded  an  explanation  of  his  ambiguous 
language,  but  before  Job  could  reply  the  clergyman  entered, 
followed  almost  immediately  by  Polwarth  with  Agnes  and 
Cecil.  The  ceremony  was  soon  over,  and  the  party  went  out, 
leaving  the  chapel  to  the  possession  of  the  son  of  Abigail  Pray. 

Arrived  at  the  house  the  newly  married  couple  were  sum- 
moned at  once  to  the  bedside  of  Mrs.  Lechmere,  who,  ill,  had 
caused  herself  to  be  raised  in  a  sitting  posture,  supported  by 
pillows.  Her  wrinkled  and  emaciated  cheeks  were  flushed 
with  unnatural  color,  and  her  eyes  gleamed  with  a  satisfaction 
she  could  not  conceal.    She  stretched  out  her  arms  and  called 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  157 

to  her  child  in  a  voice  raised  above  its  natural  tones,  "Kiss  me, 
my  Cecil,  my  bride,  my  Lady  Lincoln!  for  by  that  loved  title 
I  may  now  call  you,  as  yours,  in  the  course  of  nature,  it  soon 
will  be." 

Madame  Lechmere  was  stricken  that  same  night  with 
death.  Even  as  she  was  congratulating  herself  on  the  fulfilment 
of  her  cherished  hopes  and  looking  forward  to  a  long  and  tran- 
quil evening  of  life,  the  aged  man  whom  Job  called  Ralph 
appeared  at  the  foot  of  her  bed,  and  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice : 

"Woman!  thou  deceivest  thyself!" 

"Who — who  is  it  speaks?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  'Tis  I,  Priscilla  Lechmere,  who  knows  thy  merits  and  thy 
doom!" 

The  appalled  woman  fell  back  on  her  pillows,  gasping. 
"Why  am  I  braved,  at  such  a  moment,  in  the  privacy  of  my 
sick-chamber?    Have  that  madman  or  impostor  removed!" 

Lionel  neither  moved  nor  answered,  and  Cecil  clung  to  him. 
"My  mother's  mother!"  exclaimed  Cecil,  "would  that  I  could 
die  for  thee!" 

"Die!"  cried  she,  "who  would  die  amid  the  festivities  of  a 
bridal?  Away — leave  me!  To  thy  knees,  if  thou  wilt,  but 
leave  me!" 

While  the  dying  woman  watched,  with  bitter  resentment, 
the  retiring  form  of  Cecil,  Lionel  said  solemnly:  "If  thou 
knowest  aught  of  the  dreadful  calamity  that  has  befallen  my 
family,  or  in  any  manner  hast  been  accessory  to  its  cause, 
disburden  thy  soul,  and  die  in  peace.  I  conjure  thee,  speak — 
what  of  my  injured  mother?    Tell  me  of  her  dark  fate!" 

"The  truth!"  cried  Ralph;  "declare  the  truth,  and  thy 
own  wicked  agency  in  the  deed!" 

"Who  speaks?    Surely  I  heard  sounds  I  should  know!" 

"Look  on  me,  Priscilla  Lechmere.  'Tis  I  that  speak  to 
thee.    The  truth — the  truth;   the  holy,  undefiled  truth!" 

"My  time  has  been  too  short!  Cecil — Agnes — Abigail; 
where  are  ye?     Help  me,  or  I  fall!" 

She  caught  the  hand  of  Lionel  in  her  dying  grasp,  and  with 
a  ghastly  smile  settled  to  her  eternal  rest. 

To  clear  the  mystery  which  shrouds  the  characters  and  events 
up  to  this  period,  we  must  look  back  to  an  earlier  generation, 


158  LIONEL  LINCOLN 

when  Reginald  Lincoln  came  to  the  New  World.  He  had 
three  sons  and  a  daughter.  Lionel,  the  eldest  son,  became  Sir 
Lionel  Lincoln,  Baronet,  of  Ravenscliffe,  Devonshire,  and  died 
without  issue.  Reginald,  the  second  son,  died  leaving  a  son 
Lionel,  who  succeeded  to  the  baronetcy.  A  third  son  died 
leaving  a  daughter,  who  married  a  Danforth  and  became  the 
mother  of  Agnes  Danforth.  The  fourth  child  of  Reginald, 
Priscilla,  became  Mrs.  Lechmere,  and  had  a  daughter  Priscilla. 
Mrs.  Lechmere,  ambitious  for  the  future  of  this  daughter, 
and  foreseeing  that  her  nephew  Lionel  would  succeed  to  the 
baronetcy,  tried  to  bring  about  a  marriage  between  the  cousins, 
but  Lionel  preferred  to  choose  for  himself  and  married  a 
relative  and  goddaughter  of  Mrs.  Lechmere,  who  bore  him  a 
son  Lionel,  the  hero  of  the  story.  Called  not  long  after  to 
England  to  assume  his  rights,  this  father  of  our  hero  was  de- 
tained there  two  years,  and  on  his  retu  n  to  America  he  found 
that  his  wife  had  died;  and,  according  to  Mrs.  Lechmere, 
had  died  dishonored,  in  giving  birth  to  the  fruit  of  her  infamy. 
Mrs.  Lechmere  then  sought  again  to  bring  about  a  marriage 
between  the  Baronet  and  her  daughter  Priscilla,  and  when  he 
declined  she  tried  to  compass  his  ruin.  He  was  utterly  crushed 
beneath  the  weight  of  the  blow  he  had  received,  and  Mrs. 
Lechmere,  profiting  by  his  temporary  derangement,  had  him 
consigned  to  a  madhouse  in  England.  Such  was  the  story  told 
to  Lionel  by  the  old  man  called  Ralph. 

Major  Lincoln  listened  to  a  sequel  to  this  story  at  the 
bedside  of  Job  Pray,  who  lay  dying  in  the  old  warehouse. 
Surrounding  the  bed,  besides  himself,  were  Ralph,  Cecil,  and 
Abigail. 

"The  hand  of  Providence  is  too  manifest  in  this  assemblage 
to  be  unheeded,"  said  Abigail  Pray.  "Major  Lincoln,  in  that 
stricken  and  helpless  child  you  see  one  who  shares  your  blood. 
Job  is  your  brother!" 

"  Grief  has  maddened  her,"  said  Cecil. 

"'Tis  true!"  said  the  calm  tones  of  Ralph. 

"Woman!"  said  Lionel,  "though  a  voice  from  heaven 
should  declare  the  truth  of  thy  damnable  tale,  still  would  I 
deny  that  foul  object  as  being  the  child  of  my  beauteous 
mother." 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  159 

"He  is  the  offspring  of  one  not  less  fair,  though  far  less 
fortunate,  than  thy  own  boasted  parent.  He  is  thy  brother, 
and  the  elder  bom." 

'"Tis  true — -'tis  most  solemnly  a  truth ! "  said  the  old  man. 

Abigail  then  confessed  that  she  had  yielded  to  the  seductions 
of  Sir  Lionel  before  his  marriage  to  Major  Lincoln's  mother, 
and  that  Job  had  been  the  fruit  of  their  union.  Sir  Lionel 
never  knew  her  condition,  however.  When  Sir  Lionel's  child 
was  born,  Abigail,  unknown  to  him,  received  the  infant  from 
the  hands  of  his  jealous  aunt.  The  Baronet  went  to  England 
in  quest  of  his  rights,  and  during  his  absence  the  wife  died  of 
the  smallpox.  She  had  hardly  departed  before  a  vile  plot  was 
hatched  by  Mrs.  Lechmere  to  destroy  the  purity  of  her  fame, 
for  she  hoped  that  by  her  arts,  aided  by  his  own  wounded 
affections,  she  might  capture  the  Baronet  for  her  own  daughter; 
while  Abigail  was  vain  enough  to  dream  that  justice  and  her  boy 
might  induce  her  seducer  to  raise  her  to  the  envied  position. 

"And  this  foul  calumny  you  repeated  to  my  abused  father?" 

"We  did — yes,  God  knows  we  did!" 

"And  he,"  said  Lionel,  "he  believed  it?" 

"Yea,  but  the  heart  we  thought  to  alienate  from  its  dead 
partner  we  destroyed;  and  the  reason  we  conspired  to  deceive 
was  maddened!" 

At  this  confession  the  old  man  sprang  upon  her  with  a  cry 
so  wild,  so  horrid,  that  all  shuddered. 

"Beldame!"  he  shouted,  "I  have  thee  now!" 

"Monster!  release  the  woman!"  cried  Lionel.  "Thou,  too, 
hoary-headed  wretch,  hast  deceived  me!" 

"Lincoki!"  shrieked  Cecil,  "stay  that  unnatural  hand!  You 
raise  it  on  your  own  father!" 

Lionel  staggered  back  to  the  wall,  where  he  stood  gasping 
for  breath.  The  maniac  would  speedily  have  ended  the  sorrows 
of  the  wretched  woman,  had  not  the  door  been  burst  open  and 
a  man   ushed  in  and  seized  him. 

"I  know  your  yell,  my  gentle  Baronet!"  cried  the  keeper. 
"  I  have  not  followed  you  from  Europe  to  America  to  be  cheated 
by  a  lunatic!" 

Ralph  abandoned  his  hold  of  the  woman  and  darted  on  him. 
The  struggle  was  fierce  and  obstinate,  but  the  strength  of  the 


i6o  LIONEL   LINCOLN 

maniac  soon  prevailed  and  he  placed  his  knee  on  the  chest  of 
his  victim  and  grasped  his  throat  with  fingers  of  iron. 

"For  the  love  of  justice,  aid  me!"  gasped  the  keeper. 
"Will  you  see  me  murdered?" 

But  Lionel  looked  upon  the  savage  fray  with  a  vacant  eye. 
In  the  moment  of  despair  the  man  struck  the  maniac  twice — 
thrice — in  the  side.  Ralph  sprang  up  at  the  third  blow,  and, 
laughing  immoderately  as  the  blood  gushed  from  his  wounds, 
fell  dead  on  the  body  of  Job. 

The  bodies  of  Sir  Lionel  Lincoln  and  his  son  Job  were 
placed  in  the  family  vault  beside  that  of  Mrs.  Lechmere,  and 
the  new  Sir  Lionel,  with  Cecil,  his  bride,  sailed  away  to  occupy 
their  ancestral  halls  in  England,  leaving  their  property  in  Boston 
to  Agnes  Danforth,  who  married  an  American  officer  on  the 
reoccupation  of  the  town. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE   MOHICANS  (1826) 

Cooper's  Leather-Stocking  Tales  are  to-day  the  most  widely  read  of  all  his 
works.  He  wrote  at  a  time  when  the  Indians  of  the  East  had  not  entirely 
passed  away  and  villages  of  the  aborigines  might  still  be  found  in  the  Great 
North  Woods  of  New  York;  at  a  time,  too,  when  veterans  of  the  Revolutionary 
War  were  numerous  and  not  disinclined  to  fight  their  battles  over  again.  Even 
of  those  early  events  of  which  he  wrote,  such  as  the  massacre  of  Fort  William 
Henry,  Cooper  might  have  obtained  accounts  at  second  hand.  In  short, 
he  was  near  enough  to  the  times  and  the  people  of  whom  he  \vTote  to  get  the 
atmosphere,  and  yet  far  enough  removed  to  enable  him  to  get  his  perspective. 
His  Last  of  the  Mohicans  was  the  second  of  his  Leather-Stocking  series,  and  is 
probably  the  best  known.  The  scene  is  laid  in  the  time  of  the  French  and 
Indian  War. 

N  the  breathing  silence  that  marks  the  northern 
American  wilderness  in  July,  three  men  were 
lying  quietly  by  the  side  of  a  swift  torrent.  The 
dull  roar  of  a  near-by  waterfall  told  whence  the 
black  stream's  deadly  velocity  came. 

Two  of  the  three  showed  the  red  skin  and  wild 
accouterments  of  natives  of  the  woods.  On 
the  naked  chest  of  the  elder  was  painted  a 
frightful  emblem  of  death  in  white  and  black. 
The  younger  was  of  that  beautiful,  perfect  type  that  has  come 
down  to  new  generations  as  the  ideal  American  Indian's  figure. 
The  third  member  of  the  httle  party  was  a  white  man,  though 
his  skin  was  burned  by  exposure  to  the  color  of  an  Indian's.  He 
wore  a  hunting-shirt  of  green  and  held  an  extraordinarily  long 
rifle  on  his  lap. 

Though  they  were  conversing  quietly,  they  were  evidently 
upon  the  watch;  for  every  bush  might  hide  an  Iroquois,  and 
at  any  moment  the  war-whoop  might  ring  out.  The  French 
General  Montcalm  was  advancing  through  the  woods  with  his 
Canadian-French  and  savage  allies  to  invest  the  British  Fort 
William  Henry  on  Lake  George,  only  a  few  leagues  away. 

The  white  man  was  Nathaniel  Bumppo — known  to  the 
Indians  as  Hawk  Eye  and  to  the  French  enemies  as  Long  Rifle. 

A.  D.,  VOL.  v. — II  161 


i62  THE   LAST   OF  THE   iMOHICANS 

The  elder  Indian  was  Chingachgook,  the  Great  Serpent,  Saga- 
more of  the  iMohicans,  an  almost  extinct  tribe  of  the  Delawares. 
The  younger  was  his  son  Uncas,  the  Bounding  Elk,  the  last  of 
his  race. 

Suddenly  the  Sagamore  bent  his  body  till  his  ear  nearly 
touched  the  ground.     "The  horses  of  white  men  are  coming." 

"God  keep  them  from  the  Iroquois,"  said  the  white  hunter, 
slipping  into  the  cover  with  his  rifle  cocked. 

It  was  a  strange  cavalcade  for  that  wild  place  that  came  into 
his  view.  Foremost  rode  a  British  officer  wearing  the  uniform 
of  a  major  in  the  "Royal  Americans,"  who  formed  part  of  the 
garrison  at  Fort  William  Henry.  Behind  him  rode  two  girls — 
one  fair-haired,  blue-eyed,  seeming  too  exquisitely  tender  to 
move  in  any  except  the  most  sheltered  care;  the  other  a  dark 
beauty  with  coal-black  hair. 

"I  am  Major  Duncan  Heyward,"  said  the  officer,  answering 
Hawk  Eye's  challenge  in  a  voice  vibrant  with  joyful  relief. 
"These  ladies  are  the  daughters  of  Colonel  Munro,  the  com- 
mandant at  Fort  William  Henry,  whither  we  are  bound.  But 
our  Indian  guide  has  lost  his  way." 

"An  Indian  lose  his  way?"  said  the  hunter  scornfully. 
He  peered  at  the  Indian  who  stood  a  little  way  withdrawn.  "I 
well  know  the  treachery  of  the  Mingos,"  said  he,  using  the  con- 
temptuous term  applied  to  those  Indians  not  allied  to  the  great 
race  of  the  Delawares. 

He  gave  an  almost  imperceptible  signal  and  Chingachgook 
and  Uncas  slipped  like  serpents  into  the  bushes  to  cut  off  the 
traitor.  Magua  uttered  a  piercing  cry  and  disappeared  with  a 
single  bound  into  the  bushes. 

"We  cannot  hope  to  make  the  fort  to-night,"  said  Hawk 
Eye,  when  it  became  evident  that  the  Mingo  had  made  good  his 
escape.  "The  Mingos  will  be  upon  us  within  a  few  hours  at 
the  most.  You  must  abandon  the  horses  and  follow  me. 
Whom  have  you  here?"  looking  at  the  fourth  member  of  the 
party,  a  strange,  gaunt,  ungainly  man. 

"David  Gamut,  singing-master  to  the  Connecticut  contin- 
gent," replied  this  individual,  who  was  regarded  by  both  whites 
and  Indians  as  not  quite  sane,  and  who  had  attached  himself 
to  the  party  despite  all  remonstrances. 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  163 

In  the  darkness  which  had  now  fallen,  Hawk  Eye  and  the 
Indians  took  the  party  aboard  a  birch-bark  canoe  and  with 
wonderful  skill  and  strength  forced  their  passage  up  the  wild 
river  till  they  reached  a  rocky,  cavernous  island  that  lay  under 
the  waterfall  itself,  in  a  very  riot  of  hurtling  waters. 

All  remained  quiet  in  the  strange  retreat  till  the  hght  of 
dawn  came.  Then  suddenly  the  Iroquois,  stealing  from  all 
sides,  attacked  furiously.  But  the  superb  marksmanship  of 
the  scout  and  the  Mohicans  kept  the  hostile  savages  at  bay  until 
nightfall,  when  all  the  powder  was  exhausted.  While  Burappo 
and  Chingachgook  were  consulting  together,  Cora  Munro, 
the  dark  beauty,  proposed  that  they  should  steal  through  the 
darkness  to  the  fort  and  bring  aid. 

"The  young  as  well  as  the  old  sometimes  speak  wisdom," 
replied  the  scout.  "  Chingachcook  has  advised  the  same.  The 
Mingos  will  take  you  away  captive.  But  we  are  keen  on  the 
trail  and  will  rescue  you."  The  scout  and  the  Sagamore  then 
slipped  into  the  water,  which  closed  over  them  with  scarcely  a 
ripple.  To  Cora's  suggestion  that  he  should  follow  them  the 
young  Indian  replied,  "Uncas  will  stay";  but  at  Cora's  further 
entreaty  he  stepped  on  a  rock  and  disappeared  in  the  water, 
leaving  the  girls  with  Hey  ward,  who  refused  to  leave  them. 

The  next  morning  the  Indians  of  Magua  came  and  decided 
that  instead  of  scalping  their  victims  at  once  they  would  carry 
them  captive. 

The  gaunt  and  ungainly  form  of  the  singing-teacher,  as  well 
as  his  words  and  manners — for  he  insisted  upon  raising  a  psalm 
when  he  was  captured — caused  the  Indians  to  regard  him  as  a 
madman;  and  as  those  who  are  disordered  in  their  minds  are 
regarded  among  the  savages  as  under  a  special  protection,  they 
left  him  practically  at  liberty. 

Magua,  who  took  command  of  the  party,  hurried  them 
desperately  northward  all  day.  Often  during  the  march  he 
bent  his  fierce  gaze  on  Cora;  and  when  they  made  camp  that 
night  he  said  to  her:  "Listen!  Bright  Eyes,"  and  he  pointed  to 
Alice,  "can  go  back  to  the  old  soldier  of  the  gray  head;  but  the 
dark-haired  daughter  of  the  English  chief  must  follow  Magua 
and  live  in  his  wigwam  forever.  Once  Magua  was  flogged  by 
order  of  Munro.     Now  the  English  chief  can  sleep  among  his 


i64  THE   LAST   OF  THE   MOHICANS 

cannon,  but  his  heart  will  be  within  reach  of  the  knife  of  Magua, 
and  his  daughter  will  hoe  his  corn  and  tend  his  wigwam." 

"Monster!"  cried  Cora.  "You  shall  find  it  truth  that  it  is 
the  heart  of  Munro  you  hold!  And  it  will  defy  your  utmost 
malice!" 

"What  says  the  savage?"  asked  Hey  ward.  Cora  repeated 
what  Magua  had  said  and  cried  out:  "Oh,  my  sister  Alice, 
what  shall  I  do  ?     Shall  I  purchase  your  life  by  such  a  sacrifice  ?  " 

"No,"  firmly  replied  Alice,  "we  will  die  together." 

"Then  die!"  shouted  Magua,  and  his  tomahawk  flew 
through  the  air  in  front  of  Hey  ward,  cutting  off  some  of  the  fair 
ringlets  of  Alice  and  quivering  in  the  tree  against  which  she  stood. 

The  sight  maddened  Heyward.  He  rushed  upon  another 
savage  who  was  preparing  with  loud  yells  to  repeat  the  blow. 
The  young  officer  fell,  the  Indian  on  top.  He  saw  the  knife 
gleam  in  the  air  and  then  felt  something  sweep  past  him,  ac- 
companied by  the  report  of  a  rifle.  The  Indian  fell  back  dead 
as  Hej'w^ard  struggled  to  his  feet. 

For  an  instant  the  Hurons  were  silent.  Then  a  wild  shout 
arose:  "Long Rifle!"     "Long Rifle!" 

It  was  indeed  Bumppo,  the  Sagamore,  and  Uncas,  who,  hav- 
ing replenished  their  powder  from  a  hidden  store,  had  resolved 
to  attempt  the  rescue  themselves  rather  than  take  the  time  to 
bring  help  from  the  fort.  The  combat  was  brief  but  fierce. 
Within  a  short  time  Magua  and  such  of  his  band  as  were  left 
alive  were  fugitives.  When  the  little  party  came  in  sight  of  the 
fort,  they  saw  that  it  was  invested  by  Montcalm;  but  a  dense 
mist  that  came  suddenly  from  the  lake  enabled  them  to  get 
through  the  French  lines  unseen. 

Colonel  Munro  was  expressing  his  gratitude  to  Duncan  Hey- 
ward when  the  young  man  said:  "Colonel,  you  must  be  aware 
of  the  feeling  I  have  long  cherished  with  regard  to  your  daughter 
Alice.  Let  me  hope  that,  if  I  have  had  a  hand  in  saving  her,  I 
have  saved  her  to  be  mine." 

"Well,  my  boy,"  said  the  doughty  warrior,  "if  she  is  willing 
I  am — that  is,  if  we  ever  get  out  of  this  alive,  which  I  much 
doubt." 

The  desperate  defense  of  Fort  William  Henry  by  Colonel 
Munro  and  his  scanty  force  is  a  matter  of   history.     When 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  165 

further  resistance  was  hopeless  Montcalm  granted  to  his  gal- 
lant foe  the  privilege  of  marching  out  with  the  honors  of  war 
and  a  safe-conduct  to  Fort  Edward.  But  no  sooner  had  the  deci- 
mated garrison  left  the  fort  and  begun  its  march  through  the 
forest,  than  two  thousand  Indians  attached  to  Montcalm's 
army  fell  upon  it. 

The  sisters  stood  horror-stricken  and  nearly  helpless.  As 
the  shrieks  and  curses,  the  prayers  for  mercy  and  the  savage 
yells  of  the  Indians  rose  around,  David  Gamut,  who  was  with 
them,  said:  "If  the  Jewish  boy  might  tame  the  evil  spirit  of 
Saul  by  the  sound  of  his  harp  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  try  the 
potency  of  music  here."  Raising  his  voice  so  that  it  was  heard 
even  amid  the  devilish  clamor  around  him,  he  poured  out  a 
psalm  of  David,  solemn  and  commanding.  More  than  once 
savages  rushed  toward  the  sisters:  but  always  they  paused  when 
they  saw  the  strange  figure  with  hands  raised  above  the  girls, 
singing  his  loud  psalm.  Before  this  brief  truce  was  broken 
Magua  appeared  with  a  small  band  of  followers,  and  seizing 
David  and  the  sisters  they  carried  them  away  into  the  forest. 

All  was  still  over  the  scene  of  the  massacre  when  Colonel 
Munro,  Duncan  Heyward,  Hawk  Eye,  the  Sagamore,  and  Uncas 
made  their  way  slowly  over  the  field. 

The  skill  of  the  Indians  was  not  long  in  deciding  that  Cora  and 
Alice  rested  not  among  the  mutilated  dead,  but  had  been 
carried  into  captivity.  They  divined  that  the  captors  had  taken 
their  prisoners  toward  the  Great  North  Woods,  where  a  body  of 
Hurons  as  well  as  a  tribe  of  Delawares  had  their  encampment. 
These  Delawares,  of  the  same  race  as  the  Mohicans,  had  come 
down  from  Canada  with  the  French;  but  they  had  refused  to 
march  with  Montcalm  on  Fort  William  Henry. 

The  only  chance  of  rescuing  the  captives  was  for  the  five 
brave  men  to  follow  the  trail  into  the  depths  of  the  wilderness 
and  trust  to  Providence  and  their  own  valor  for  the  result.  Day 
after  day,  Bumppo  and  the  Mohicans  guided  the  officers  through 
the  wilderness,  until  at  last  the  scout  said:  "I  scent  the  Hurons. 
Yonder  is  open  sky  through  the  tree-tops.  We  are  getting  too 
near  their  encampment." 

As  they  stole  cautiously  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  whence 
they  could  look  down  on  a  stream  where  a  colony  of  beavers 


i66  THE  LAST   OF  THE  MOHICANS 

was  disporting  amid  their  curious  huts,  they  saw  a  strange  figure 
which  they  soon  recognized  as  David  Gamut.  He  informed 
them  that  AHce  was  a  prisoner  in  the  camp  of  the  Hurons, 
about  two  miles  away,  while  Cora  had  been  placed  by  Magua 
in  the  camp  of  the  Delawares,  some  ten  miles  distant.  Magua 
and  most  of  his  braves  were  away  on  a  hunting  trip.  As  yet 
the  captives  had  suffered  no  harm  and  had,  on  the  whole,  been 
kindly  treated:  though  for  what  fate  they  were  reserved  was 
uncertain. 

It  was  arranged  that  Heyward  should  disguise  himself  as  an 
envoy  of  Montcalm  and  visit  the  camp  of  the  Hurons  with  the 
hope  of  rescuing  Alice.  Uncas  and  the  scout  were  to  proceed 
to  the  camp  of  the  Delawares  to  look  after  the  welfare  of  Cora; 
and  Colonel  Munro  was  to  be  placed  in  a  secure  retreat,  under 
the  care  of  the  Sagamore. 

Within  a  short  time  Duncan,  disguised  as  an  Indian,  was 
guided  by  David  into  the  camp  of  the  Hurons,  where  he  was 
received  in  council  and  accepted  for  what  he  pretended  to  be — 
a  scout  of  Montcalm.  But  the  council  was  interrupted  by  the 
arrival  of  a  party  of  braves  bringing  in  Uncas,  as  prisoner,  and 
Magua  came  shortly  after  with  his  party. 

Uncas,  proud  and  haughty,  taunted  his  captors  and  dared 
them  to  do  their  worst,  while  the  vengeful  Magua,  his  eyes  burn- 
ing in  their  sockets  like  live  coals,  watched  the  young  chief  with 
looks  of  triumphant  hatred.  Some  of  the  Indians  were  for 
killing  the  Mohican  at  once,  but  Magua  would  not  give  his  enemy 
such  a  short  and  easy  exit  from  life.  After  enjoying  his  triumph 
for  a  while,  he  ordered  the  young  chief  to  be  taken  to  a  separate 
lodge,  strongly  guarded,  and  preparations  for  torture  to  be  made. 

In  the  interest  over  Uncas  the  Indians  had  forgotten  the 
presence  of  the  supposed  messenger  of  Montcalm;  but  now  an 
old  chief  came  to  him  and  said:  "The  white  brother  has  skill 
in  magic?" 

"Why,  yes — somewhat,"  replied  Duncan. 

"An  evil  spirit  has  entered  into  the  wife  of  one  of  my  young 
men.  Come  and  cure  her."  The  Indian  led  the  way  to  a  cave 
in  the  mountain  side  at  a  little  distance  from  the  camp,  where 
they  found  a  young  woman,  evidently  very  ill. 

As  they  passed  into  the  cave,  Heyward  noticed  that  they 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  167 

were  followed  by  a  bear,  which  he  supposed  to  be  one  of  the  tame 
bears  sometimes  kept  in  the  Indian  villages. 

No  sooner  had  the  Indian  gone  than  the  bear,  rearing  on  its 
hind  legs,  removed  its  muzzle  and  disclosed  the  features  of 
Bumppo  the  scout. 

"After  the  capture  of  Uncas,"  said  he,  "I  was  prowling 
around  the  village,  when  I  came  upon  an  Indian  conjurer 
preparing  himself  for  one  of  his  rites.  Binding  him,  I  took  his 
bear's  skin  and  donned  it  myself.  Then  I  came  to  play  the 
part  that  the  Indians  were  expecting  him  to  play — though  not 
quite  in  the  same  way.  But  hasten.  Alice  is  probably  in  here 
somewhere!" 

They  had  just  found  her  in  an  inner  cave  when  from  one  of 
the  passages  leading  into  it  appeared  the  vengeful  Magua.  His 
surprise  was  so  great  that  before  he  could  cry  out  or  make  a 
move,  Duncan  and  Bumppo  had  bound  and  gagged  him. 
Swiftly  wrapping  Alice  in  a  blanket,  Duncan  took  her  in  his  arms, 
and  followed  by  Bumppo,  who  had  resumed  his  bear  disguise, 
appeared  at  the  entrance  of  the  outer  cave. 

"The  evil  spirit  has  left  her,"  he  said  in  French  to  the  people 
gathered  about  the  entrance.  "It  is  now  shut  up  in  the  cave. 
Let  no  one  enter  for  an  hour.  We  take  the  sick  woman  to  the 
magic  place  in  the  v/oods  to  complete  the  medicine,  when  we 
will  return  her  well."  And  followed  by  the  bear,  rolling  and 
growling  as  it  went,  he  passed  swiftly  through  the  crowd  and  into 
the  woods.  At  a  distance  from  the  Huron  camp  Bumppo 
said:  "The  Hurons  will  follow  cjuickly.  There  is  only  one 
chance  of  escape.  The  trail  is  plain  before  you  to  the  camp  of 
the  Delawares.  Follow  it  and  demand  protection.  If  they  are 
true  Delawares  it  will  be  granted  to  you.  But  for  me  I  must  go 
back.  The  Hurons  hold  in  their  power  the  last  high  blood  of 
the  Mohicans  and  I  must  return  to  see  what  may  be  done.  If 
Uncas  is  to  die,  then  the  Hurons  shall  see  how  a  white  man  can 
die,  too." 

Clad  once  more  in  his  bearskin  Hawk  Eye  approached  the 
Huron  encampment  and  finding  David  Gamut  mooning  about 
the  outskirts,  revealed  himself  and  explained  his  plan  for  aiding 
Uncas.  David,  raising  one  of  his  loudest  psalms,  led  the  way 
to  the  wigwam  where  the  Indian  youth  was  prisoner  and  an- 


i68  THE  LAST   OF  THE   MOHICANS 

nounccd  that  he  would  enter  with  his  friend,  the  bear  conjurer, 
and  work  a  spell  on  the  defiant  captive.  They  would  take 
away  the  courage  of  the  Mohican,  so  that  when  brought  forth  to 
his  death,  he  would  weep  and  beg  for  the  dress  of  a  woman. 
The  Indians,  still  believing  that  the  skin  of  the  bear  contained 
their  favorite  magician  and  that  David  himself  was  possessed, 
like  all  demented  persons,  of  supernatural  powers,  after  some 
hesitation  allowed  the  two  to  enter  the  lodge. 

Once  inside,  a  hasty  explanation  to  Uncas  was  followed  by 
a  rapid  change  of  costume.  Uncas  put  on  the  bearskin  and 
the  scout  assumed  the  strange  garb  of  the  singing-teacher,  leav- 
ing him  behind,  as  they  knew  the  Indians  would  not  harm  him. 

Hawk  Eye  and  Uncas  had  not  proceeded  far  into  the  recesses 
of  the  forest  when  they  heard  a  shout  from  the  Indian  village. 
The  deception  of  the  cave  and  the  deception  of  the  prison  lodge 
had  both  been  discovered.  Magua  had  been  unbound  and  the 
Hurons  were  on  their  trail. 

But  the  fugitives  had  a  start  which,  combined  with  their 
knowledge  of  woodcraft,  rendered  pursuit  ineffectual;  and 
after  a  desperate  effort  to  apprehend  them  Magua  withdrew  his 
men  and  planned  for  the  morrow. 

Heyward  and  Alice  had  been  received  into  the  camp  of  the 
Delawares,  and  when  Uncas  and  Hawk  Eye  appeared  they 
were  placed  under  guard,  but  their  reception  was,  on  the  whole, 
friendly.  With  the  morning  appeared  Magua,  dressed  and 
painted  as  for  peace,  and  made  formal  demand  for  his  prisoners. 
A  great  council  was  called  to  consider  the  matter.  Hardly  had 
it  assembled  than,  supported  on  either  side  by  two  old  men, 
the  venerable  and  celebrated  Tamenund  appeared,  bent  under 
the  weight  of  more  than  a  hundred  years,  but  still  possessing 
the  wisdom  and  authority  that  has  sent  his  name  down  through 
legend  and  history  as  "Tammany." 

"I  am  Tamenund  of  many  days,"  said  the  venerable  chief. 
Fixing  his  eyes  upon  Cora  he  asked :     "  Who  art  thou  ?  " 

"A  woman — a  Yangee,  if  thou  wilt;  but  one  who  never 
harmed  thee  and  who  demands  succor,"  replied  the  girl. 

"And  who  art  thou?"  asked  the  chief,  turning  to  Uncas. 
The  young  man  drew  himself  up  and  answered:  " I  am  Uncas, 
the  son  of  Chingachgook,  the  last  of  the  high  blood  of  the  Mohi- 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  169 

cans,  a  son  of  Unam,  the  Great  Turtle."  And  stepping  on  the 
platform  where  Tamenund  sat  with  the  elders,  he  dropped  his 
blanket  and  showed,  so  that  all  could  see  it,  a  blue  turtle  tattooed 
on  his  breast.  A  great  murmur  arose  from  the  assembly. 
"The  hour  of  Tamenund  is  nigh!"  exclaimed  the  aged  chief. 
"Uncas,  the  son  of  Uncas,  is  found.  Let  the  eyes  of  the  dying 
eagle  gaie  on  the  rising  sun." 

All  who  looked  upon  the  Indian  youth  knew  him  then  for  the 
hereditary  chief  of  the  Turtle  clan  of  the  Delawares,  the  very 
tribe  or  half-tribe  among  whom  he  now  found  himself.  And  the 
words  of  the  venerated  Tamenund  confirmed  it. 

Tamenund  set  the  youth  before  the  people  for  their  chief, 
and  Uncas  was  hailed  with  loud  shouts  of  joy  and  devotion. 
But  Magua  now  stepped  forth  and  insisted  on  his  right  to  Cora. 
The  others  might  be  kept  from  him;  but  by  Indian  law  she  was 
his — a  captive  whom  he  had  lodged  among  the  Delawares. 

"  Go.  It  is  the  law.  Take  your  captive  with  you.  The  sun 
is  now  among  the  branches  of  the  hemlock  tree  and  your  path 
is  short  and  open.  When  he  is  seen  above  the  trees  there  will 
be  men  on  your  trail, "  said  Uncas;  and  he  watched  until  the  sun 
shone  above  the  tree-tops,  then  gave  the  war-cry  and,  followed 
by  his  tribe,  started  in  pursuit  of  the  Huron. 

Heyward  and  Bumppo,  with  a  party  of  Indians  assigned  to 
them,  took  a  different  route  from  that  of  Uncas,  picked  up 
Colonel  Munro  and  the  Sagamore  on  the  way,  and  attacked  the 
Hurons  in  the  rear. 

The  Hurons  fought  with  desperate  bravery,  but  were  at 
last  forced  to  take  refuge  on  a  rocky  height  that  hung  over  the 
site  of  their  village.  Into  these  fastnesses  the  Delawares  pur- 
sued them,  killing  and  sparing  not. 

Amid  all  the  tumult  of  the  fight  Uncas  kept  his  eye  on  Magua; 
and  when  the  Huron  seemed  to  be  hemmed  in  on  all  sides 
Uncas  saw  him  suddenly  turn  and  make  a  rush  into  the  cave. 

Uncas  pursued.      Behind  them  came  Heyward  and  Bumppo. 

The  fluttering  of  a  white  robe  was  seen  at  the  end  of  a  dark 
tunnel.  '"Tis  Cora,"  exclaimed  Uncas,  bounding  forward 
like  a  deer.  Out  of  an  entrance  to  the  cave  on  the  farther  side 
of  the  mountain  Magua  rushed  with  his  victim  and  began  to 
scale   the   precipitous  side  of  the   rugged   heights.     He  was 


170  THE   LAST   OF   THE   MOHICANS 

joined  bv  several  of  his  fugitive  braves  and  his  pursuers  saw  the 
party  outhned  on  the  verge  of  a  precipice. 

They  saw  Cora  break  loose  from  the  hold  of  the  chief  and 
heard  her  defy  the  Huron  and  dare  him  to  kill  her.  "Death 
or  my  lodge!"  said  Magua.     "Choose." 

Bumppo  and  Heyward  did  not  dare  to  shoot,  for  the  form 
of  the  girl  was  between  them  and  Magua.  "Mercy,  Huron!" 
cried  Heyward.  The  form  of  Uncas  appeared  high  up  above 
them  on  a  ledge  over  the  one  on  which  Magua  and  his  victim 
stood.  The  Mohican  uttered  a  piercing  cry.  He  leaped,  and 
his  form  shot  between  Magua  and  Cora.  At  that  moment 
one  of  Magua' s  Indians  sheathed  his  knife  to  the  hilt  in  the 
bosom  of  Cora.  Uncas  stumbled  and  fell,  and  as  he  landed  on 
the  ledge  Magua  buried  his  tomahawk  in  the  back  of  the  pros- 
trate Delaware.  He  shouted  in  exultation.  But  he  was  an- 
swered by  a  cry  of  vengeance.  He  sprang  into  the  air,  striving 
to  leap  across  a  huge  crevice  that  yawned  before  him.  The 
scout  forbore  to  shoot,  watching  the  fearful  leap. 

The  Huron  almost  reached  the  other  side.  His  hands 
convulsively  grasped  the  long  grass  on  the  edge;  so  great  was 
his  strength  that  he  drew  himself  up  until  his  knees  rested  on  the 
rim  of  safety  and  he  uttered  a  shout  of  defiance.  The  rifle  of 
the  scout  spoke;  and  Magua's  dead  form  went  whirling  and 
falling  into  the  depths  beneath. 

Next  morning  found  the  Delawares  a  nation  of  mourners. 
They  had  avenged  an  ancient  grudge  by  the  extinction  of  an 
entire  community.  But  in  the  struggle  many  of  the  best  and 
bravest  of  the  Turtle  clan  had  fallen,  greatest  among  whom 
was  the  young  chief  so  lately  restored  to  them.  With  all  the 
pomp  and  the  wild  ritual  of  the  Indian  race  Uncas  and  Cora 
were  laid  to  rest,  surrounded  by  a  mourning  tribe;  and  the 
Indian  girls  sang  songs  of  their  spirits  reunited  in  heaven. 

Bowed  with  his  tragic  grief.  Colonel  Munro,  accompanied 
by  Bumppo  and  Heyward,  took  Ahce  back  to  civilization. 
On  the  borders  of  the  wilderness  the  scout  bade  them  farewell. 
His  life  had  been  too  long  amid  the  scenes  of  nature  to  permit 
of  his  resting  content  amid  cities,  and  he  had  sworn  to  remain 
with  the  old  Sagamore  forever. 


THE   RED   ROVER   (1827) 

There  are  few,  if  any,  sea-stories  of  which  the  scene  is  so  entirely  acted  on 
the  water  as  is  that  of  The  Red  Rover.  Aside  from  the  interest  of  the  story,  this 
work  has  permanent  value  as  a  record  of  certain  phases  of  sea-life  that  are  fast 
passing  away  under  modern  conditions,  if,  indeed,  they  are  not  already  gone 
forever. 


[he  years  immediately  preceding  the  Revolution- 
ary War  were  a  time  of  effervescence  and  law- 
lessness in  America.  Her  sailors  still  served 
on  English  men-of-war.  Slavery  was  coun- 
tenanced, and  pirates  still  flaunted  their  blood- 
red  flags  on  the  high  seas,  especially  in  the  West 
Indies,  pursued,  it  is  true,  by  government  ships, 
but  winked  at  if  they  stole  into  port  under  a  trans- 
parent disguise  and  spent  money  freely.  Not 
all  were  saints  and  Puritans  in  New  England  at  that  time 
any  more  than  now.  Each  age  has  its  fashions  in  wickedness 
as  well  as  in  virtue. 

Among  those  good  people  of  the  noted  and  important  little 
seaside  town  of  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  who  idled  and  gossiped 
near  the  wharves  and  frequented  the  groggery  called  "  The  Foul 
Anchor,"  great  interest  was  shown  in  a  long,  low,  black  ship  with 
a  band  of  yellow  on  her  sides,  through  which  opened  the  port- 
holes for  her  guns.  Never  was  a  man-of-war  which  showed 
more  plainly  the  salutary  effect  of  stern  authority  and  naval 
discipline.  That  she  must  have  a  large  crew  was  evident; 
and  yet  rarely  were  any  of  the  men  seen  above  the  boarding- 
nettings  which  were  ever  stretched  above  the  bulwarks,  as  if  she 
were  watching  for,  and  were  ever  prepared  to  repel,  an  enemy. 
It  was  generally  given  out  that  this  beautiful  vessel  was  a 
slaver.  There  was  nothing  extraordinary  in  this  fact.  But 
some  shrewd  observers,  who  knew  a  thing  or  two  about  matters 
marine,  shook  their  heads  and  in  low  tones  uttered  the  dread 

171 


172  THE    RED    ROVER 

name  Red  Rover.  Others  \-entured  to  whisper  in  plain  English 
the  word  pirate.  But  one  over-venturesome  tailor,  who  fash- 
ioned clothes  for  old  salts,  happened  unluckily  to  speak  of  the 
ship  as  a  pirate  to  her  captain  himself,  who  was  ashore  posing  as 
a  lawyer  gathering  evidence  against  smugglers;  and  the  rash 
tailor  was  swooped  off  at  night,  taken  on  board  the  mysterious 
ship,  and  never  heard  of  again. 

What  added  to  the  interest  of  the  situation  was  the  fact  that 
in  the  inner  harbor  a  trading-ship  named  the  Royal  Caroline 
was  anchored  and  now  nearly  ready  to  put  to  sea  for  Charleston. 
There  was  something  very  suspicious  about  these  two  ships; 
some  grave  connivance  was  on  foot,  likewise,  as  the  time  for 
sailing  approached,  on  the  part  of  traders,  consignees,  and  others 
concerned  in  the  destiny  of  the  Royal  Caroline. 

A  day  or  two  before  she  was  to  sail,  the  legal  gentleman 
mentioned  above  met,  as  if  casually,  a  sailor-like  youth  loafing 
about  the  harbor  as  if  searching  for  a  berth,  with  whom  he 
struck  up  an  acquaintance.  One  thing  leading  to  another, 
the  former  said  he  was  able  to  command  the  influence  that 
would  secure  a  fine  post  on  the  alleged  slaver,  her  mate  having 
"slipped  his  cable,"  to  speak  nautically  of  the  event  which  lands 
all  sailors  and  some  others  in  a  world  that  has  no  sea.  Wilder, 
as  this  candidate  for  office  called  himself,  apparently  having 
no  suspicions  and  no  fear,  went  on  board  the  slaver  the  same 
evening,  and  there  learned  that  his  new  friend  was  not  only  the 
owner  and  commander  of  this  fine  ship,  but  also  the  famous 
and  dreaded  Rover  himself.  Wilder  was  shown  with  surprising 
frankness  the  rules  of  this  new  service.  With  equal  lack  of 
reluctance  and  reserve  he  signed  his  name  to  the  rules  which 
stipulated  implicit  obedience  on  penalty  of  death.  The  Rover 
explained  his  readiness  to  give  so  important  a  position  to  a  total 
stranger  on  the  ground  that  he  could  read  human  nature  and 
he  was  convinced  of  the  ability  and  fitness  of  Vv  ilder  for  his 
service;  and  said  that  he  was  obliged  to  require  sufficient  guar- 
anty of  fidelity  from  his  men. 

Wilder  stipulated  that  he  should  be  permitted  to  pass  the 
following  day  on  shore,  to  which  the  Rover  assented  with  reluc- 
tance. Having  learned  that  several  ladies  were  going  as  passen- 
gers in  the  Royal  Caroline,  he  sought  their  residence,  and  with 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  173 

every  possible  reason  short  of  the  actual  reason,  which  he  could 
not  give  without  forfeiting  his  life,  he  urged  them  not  to  go  this 
\-oyage  in  the  Royal  Caroline.  His  advice  was  opposed  by  an 
old  seafaring  man  who  gave  contradictory  counsel.  The  evi- 
dent fact  that  Wilder  was  evading  the  statement  of  his  real 
motive  aroused  the  curiosity  of  the  elder  lady,  who,  out  of  pique 
and  doubtful  as  to  the  motives  of  one  she  had  never  seen  before, 
finally  decided  to  go  in  the  ship,  which  was  to  put  to  sea  that  day. 
The  ladies'  luggage,  presenting  a  miscellaneous  assortment  of 
commodities,  was  accordingly  taken  on  board  the  trader. 
Everything  seemed  in  a  confused  state  of  unreadiness  common 
when  a  sailing-ship  is  about  to  put  to  sea  on  a  long  voyage. 
The  decks  of  the  Royal  Caroline  were  also  crowded  by  groups 
of  idlers  such  as  watch  with  unfailing  interest  every  transaction 
preparatory  to  the  final  making  sail  and  heaving  of  the  anchor. 
In  the  midst  of  this  confusion  the  Captain,  as  was  alleged, 
fell  off  a  cask  and  broke  his  leg.  This  unfortunate  accident 
threatened  to  cause  the  postponement  of  the  voyage,  when  a 
lissome  young  page  accosted  Wilder,  bringing  a  note  from  the 
Rover  recommending  him  for  eminent  fitness  to  take  the  com- 
mand, at  least  until  the  recovery  of  the  Captain,  which  might 
not  be  for  several  weeks.  Other  letters  from  parties  who  took 
a  great  interest  in  the  ship,  her  owners  and  consignees,  or  in 
Wilder,  some  of  whom  he  had  never  set  eyes  on  before  that  day, 
were  handed  to  those  whose  interests  were  most  important  in 
the  welfare  of  the  Royal  Caroline.  There  was  evidently  a  gang 
of  questionable  characters  of  various  social  stripes  working 
together  at  this  port,  such  as  one  sees  quite  too  often  among 
politicians,  who  had  a  sudden  vehement  yearning  to  see  Wilder 
in  command  of  this  ship.  Wilder,  from  different  motives,  as 
we  must  judge  from  the  sequel,  was  as  eager  to  accept  the  va- 
cant position  which  so  many  urged  upon  him,  and  which  sud- 
denly promoted  him  from  first  lieutenant  to  commander. 
If  they  did  not  guess  what  his  motives  were,  he,  on  the  other 
hand,  lay  under  no  delusions,  and  must  have  turned  cynic 
when  he  saw  what  a  gang  of  miscreants  the  occasion  had  re- 
vealed, as  the  sun  draws  out  the  serpents  from  their  hiding- 
places  after  a  spell  of  severe  weather.  Amid  this  miscellane- 
Dus  throng  it  was  interesting  to  note  the  questioning  surprise 


174  THE   RED   ROVER 

of  ^Slrs.  Wyllis  when  she  saw  the  young  unknown,  who  had  so 
earnestly  warned  them  not  to  embark  on  board  the  Royal 
Caroline,  now  in  command  of  that  ship. 

"And  do  you  still  think,  Captain  Wilder,  that  we  ought  not 
to  go  in  this  ship?"  she  asked  him;  and  he  replied  evasively, 
"Time  will  soon  show,  madam,  who  was  right." 

And  now  the  pilot  was  aboard,  and  all  not  going  in  the  ship 
were  ordered  ashore. 

The  anchors  were  a-trip,  all  sail  was  made,  and  the  stanch, 
stately  trader,  deep  with  a  full  cargo,  began  to  move  slowly  out 
of  the  berth  where  she  had  been  lying  toward  the  channel 
by  which  she  would  proceed  to  sea.  But  the  wind  was  light 
and  the  slaver  was  lying  directly  in  the  way;  hence  it  was  a 
question  whether  the  trader  would  be  able  to  weather  the  slaver. 
The  situation  was  to  the  last  degree  critical.  The  small  shore 
battery,  as  everyone  knew,  was  falling  to  decay  and  useless; 
and,  if  so  minded,  the  slaver  could  seize  any  merchant-vessel 
in  that  very  harbor  with  slight  danger.  The  slaver  lay  on  the 
calm  water  as  destitute  of  signs  of  life  as  the  floating  carcass  of  a 
dead  whale.  But  Wilder  knew  that  she  was  only  waiting  for 
the  fit  moment;  and  his  anxiety  was  intense.  One  small 
figure  was  lying  motionless  on  a  yard-arm  over  the  water. 
Wilder  knew  that  that  man  was  waiting  to  drop  a  grapnel  when 
the  tide  should  drift  the  trader  under  the  slaver's  spars. 

The  pilot  himself  soon  showed  by  his  absurd  and  contra- 
dictory orders  that  he  was  either  incompetent  or  leagued  with 
the  dark  conspiracy  mentioned  above.  When  he  stoutly  re- 
fused to  take  Wilder's  commands,  as  being  in  command  himself 
at  the  time,  the  young  Captain  ordered  him  to  be  thrown  into 
his  boat  and  sent  ashore;  in  doing  this  Captain  Wilder 
infringed  the  laws  of  nations.  He  then  dropped  an  anchor. 
But  a  while  later  the  breeze  freshened  again  and  he  made  an- 
other and  this  time  successful  attempt  to  leave  the  port. 

As  the  Caroline  boldly  swept  past  the  slaver,  within  hailing 
distance,  not  a  sign  of  life  was  to  be  seen  on  that  vessel.  Wilder 
thought  the  passage  would  be  made  without  the  slightest 
notice.  But  he  was  mistaken,  A  light,  active  form,  in  the 
undress  attire  of  a  naval  officer,  sprang  upon  the  taffrail  and 
waved  a  sea-cap  in  salute.     The  instant  the  fair  hair  was  seen 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  175 

blowing  about  the  countenance  of  this  individual,  Wilder 
recognized  the  features  of  the  Rover. 

"Think  you  the  wind  will  hold  here,  sir?"  shouted  the 
latter  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 

"It  has  come  in  fresh  enough  to  be  steady,"  was  the  answer. 

"A  wise  mariner  would  get  his  offing  in  time." 

"You  beheve  we  shall  have  it  more  at  south?" 

"I  do;  but  a  taut  bowline  will  carry  you  clear."  Wilder 
now  made  every  effort  to  get  to  sea;  every  stitch  of  canvas  that 
would  draw  was  set;  and  the  Caroline  never  showed  her  paces 
to  better  advantage.  But  not  content  with  this,  he  constantly 
turned  his  head  landward  to  discern  whether  there  was  any 
sign  of  movement  in  the  slaver.  But  until  night  set  in  she 
remained  a  fading  black  object  at  anchor;  and  still  the  young 
Captain's  anxiety  continued. 

The  moon  was  full,  but  watery  and  floating  in  a  thin  haze. 
It  was  on  the  edge  of  winter,  when  the  north  Atlantic  is  sad 
and  the  wind  wails  mournfully  in  the  rigging.  But  as  he  had 
been  able  to  make  so  much  distance  without  perceiving  any 
sign  of  the  slaver  in  pursuit,  Wilder's  depression  grew  less;  he 
conversed  in  lighter  tones  with  his  passengers,  and  said  buoyant- 
ly to  himself,  "Success!" 

The  breeze  freshened.  It  was  blowing  up  a  gale.  But  al- 
though the  sea  was  rising  fast,  Wilder  carried  sail  hard.  And 
when  in  a  lighter  spot  near  the  horizon  he  saw  a  faint  hazy 
form  and  the  lookout  called  "Sail  ho!"  he  packed  on  more  sail 
even  to  the  point  of  serious  danger  and  against  the  remon- 
strances of  the  mate.  It  was  like  running  a  race  with  the  in- 
evitable. His  hopes  of  escaping  the  Red  Rover,  which  was 
clearly  in  pursuit  now,  had  vanished;  and  it  was  simply  a 
question  of  postponing  the  doom  of  going  to  the  bottom  or  of 
capture  by  the  most  wily,  skilled,  and  determined  corsair  that 
scoured  the  high  seas.  Even  while  Mr.  Earing  the  mate  was 
remonstrating,  they  struck  a  mountain  wave  that  swept  the 
decks  and  started  new  leaks  in  the  straining  vessel. 

Then,  by  permission  of  the  ladies,  who  as  passengers  had 
some  rights  in  the  matter,  Wilder  decided  to  double  on  his 
tracks,  hoping,  by  easing  the  ship,  to  slip  back  to  Newport 
or  some  near  haven  ahead  of  the  Rover.     But  this  course  soon 


176  THE   RED   ROVER 

proved  useless;  and  now  a  nearer  catastrophe  overtook  the 
Caroline.  A  shift  of  the  wind,  always  dangerous  at  that  season 
in  that  region,  and  especially  violent  in  this  case,  struck  the 
vessel.  Although  perceived  in  time  for  most  of  the  canvas 
to  be  stripped  off  her  yards,  the  force  of  the  storm  struck  her 
before  she  could  be  got  before  the  wind;  and  she  was  thrown 
on  her  beam  ends.  But  one  resource  was  left  to  prevent  founder- 
ing. The  masts  were  cut  away,  but  with  the  loss  of  the  mate 
and  several  seamen.  While  the  Caroline  was  thus  running 
helpless  before  the  storm  in  the  blackness  of  night,  the  Red 
Rover  appeared  rushing  by  under  bare  poles  within  a  hundred 
feet,  and  without  the  loss  of  a  spar.  By  reason  of  her  large  and 
well  disciplined  crew  and  the  consummate  skill  of  her  com- 
mander, she  had  escaped  all  harm  in  this  furious  tempest  and 
was  seemingly  as  safe  as  if  built  on  a  rock. 

The  next  morning  the  weather  was  fine,  although  there 
was  still  a  tumultuous  sea.  But  the  Caroline  was  a  helpless 
wreck,  wallowing  in  the  billows  and  leaking  at  every  seam; 
and  the  crew  to  a  man  refused  to  go  to  the  pumps.  It  was 
useless  they  said,  to  waste  effort;  the  only  resource  was  to  take 
to  the  pinnace  or  small  boat,  and  make  for  the  land.  They 
would  admit  the  ladies,  but  Wilder  they  had  no  room  for;  he 
was  a  young  upstart,  who  had  brought  them  ill  luck.  He,  on 
the  other  hand,  asserted  that  there  was  one  chance  still  left:  so 
the  ladies  decided  to  remain  with  him.  As  soon  as  the  pinnace 
had  left,  he  set  to  work  at  once  with  the  longboat  lying  on  the 
deck  amidships.  Without  the  crew  and  the  aid  of  the  spars 
he  could  not  float  it,  but  he  could  take  the  desperate  chance  of 
placing  into  it  the  masts  and  sails  belonging  to  it  and  such  pro- 
visions and  clothing  as  they  could  collect  in  so  short  a  time. 
When  the  ship  went  down  the  boat  might  float.  These  prepara- 
tions completed.  Wilder  and  the  ladies,  with  their  colored  maid, 
got  into  the  longboat  and  awaited  the  final  catastrophe.  They 
had  not  long  to  wait.  Fortunately  Wilder's  hopes  were  justified. 
Barely  resisting  the  downward  rush  of  water  as  the  ship  went 
down,  the  longboat  arose  to  the  top,  and  Wilder  at  once  set 
sail.  In  a  few  hours  they  saw  the  pinnace  floating  keel  up. 
As  nothing  else  was  in  sight  they  began  to  entertain  hopes  of 
reaching  land  safely,  when  a  sail  hove  in  sight.     It  was  the 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  177 

Dolphin,  known  as  the  Red  Rover!  She  soon  discovered  the 
boat,  bore  down,  and  picked  up  Wilder  and  the  ladies.  What- 
ever else  he  might  have  been  in  his  wild  career,  her  captain  and 
owner  was  a  gentleman  born  and  bred,  even  though  policy 
may  have  tempered  some  of  his  actions.  He  turned  over  to  the 
ladies  his  own  cabin,  which  was  superbly  decorated  with  some 
of  the  many  trophies  he  had  captured,  and  they  were  treated 
with  great  deference.  A  handsome,  refined  page  was  detailed 
to  wait  on  them;  but  after  keenly  scrutinizing  this  youth  with 
the  piercing  eye  of  feminine  suspicion,  Mrs.  Wyllis  decided  to 
dispense  with  the  services  of  the  Red  Rover's  page.  Whatever 
the  Rover  may  have  felt  and  thought  as  to  the  desperate  attempt 
of  his  lieutenant  to  rescue  the  Caroline  from  his  grasp,  he  betrayed 
no  resentment;  but  the  fierce,  turbulent  crew,  who  lived  and 
fought  for  booty,  made  no  secret  of  the  fate  they  reserved  for 
Wilder.  Their  curses  were  not  only  deep  but  sometimes  out- 
spoken. But  the  Rover,  with  his  tremendous,  magnetic  will- 
power enforced  obedience  to  Wilder's  orders  as  to  a  trusted 
officer,  and  threatened  instant  death  to  him  who  first  raised  hand 
against  the  late  master  of  the  Royal  Caroline. 

The  fact  that  the  Rover  did  not  touch  at  any  port  as  they 
went  southward,  to  allow  them  to  land,  aroused  the  suspicion 
of  the  ladies;  and  a  fearful  riot  among  the  crew  when  engaged 
in  some  of  their  revels,  in  which  a  distinct  attempt  was  made 
to  murder  Wilder  and  perhaps  to  gain  possession  of  the  ship, 
not  only  convinced  them  of  the  justice  of  his  reasons  for  urging 
them  not  to  sail  in  the  Caroline,  but  opened  their  eyes  to  the  true 
character  of  the  ship  that  was  now  speeding  ever  nearer  to  the 
West  Indies,  for  ages  the  hunting-ground  of  buccaneers  and 
pirates. 

The  ladies,  however,  had  the  sense  and  resolution  to  dis- 
semble what  they  perceived  and  feared.  And  when  the  Rover 
visited  them  in  their  cabin,  disposed  to  intelligent  and  refined 
conversation  which  was  sometimes  personal  and  confidential  in  its 
tone,  Mrs.  Wyllis  endeavored  with  great  tact  to  instil  remorse 
into  his  heart  and  to  lead  him  to  abandon  a  career  so  far  below 
the  lot  he  was  bom  and  fitted  for.  As  she  spoke  of  duty  he 
listened  attentively,  as  if  her  advice  struck  home  and  was  not 
entirely  contrary  to  thoughts  he  must  already  have  entertained 
A.  D.,  VOL.  v.  — 12 


1 78  THE   RED   ROVER 

in  his  secret  musings.  But  whatever  good  intentions  were 
aroused  in  the  Rover's  better  nature,  they  were  suddenly  dis- 
sipated, at  least  for  the  time,  by  the  appearance  of  an  English 
ship  of  war,  which  was  recognized  by  Wilder  as  the  Dart,  in 
which  he  had  formerly  sailed,  and  which  mounted  heavier 
batteries  than  the  Dolphin.  Although  this  circumstance 
aroused  no  apprehension  in  the  Rover,  for  he  was  confident 
of  the  skill  of  himself  and  his  crew,  he  seemed  willing  to  throw 
the  responsibility  of  the  attack  on  the  enemy,  as  if  under  the 
influence  of  Mrs.  Wyllis's  counsels,  notwithstanding  the  urgent 
expectation  of  his  crew,  now  yearning  for  blood  and  plunder. 
He  hoisted  the  English  colors,  and  when  the  Dart  backed  her 
maintopsail  to  the  mast  actually  paid  a  visit  in  disguise  to 
Captain  Bignal  of  the  Dart.  All  might  have  passed  off  well 
but  that  the  Englishman  unwittingly  revealed  the  secret  that 
one  of  his  officers.  Wilder  by  name,  was  acting  as  a  spy  on 
board  the  Red  Rover  with  the  intention  of  working  to  entrap 
her  into  English  hands. 

Exhibiting  no  surprise  at  this  astounding  intelhgence,  the 
Rover  returned  to  his  ship  and  confronted  Wilder  with  the 
charge,  which  smote  him  as  his  death-warrant.  But  again 
the  commander  of  the  Red  Rover  preserved  his  astounding  power 
over  his  passions.  Instead  of  ordering  Wilder  to  be  forthwith 
strung  up  to  the  yard-arm,  he  put  him  in  a  boat  with  the  ladies 
and  his  two  servants  Fid  and  Scipio,  and  sent  them  on  board  the 
English  ship.  He  then  caused  the  strip  of  yellow  canvas  which 
ran  by  the  port-holes  to  be  withdrawn,  thus  revealing  a  band 
under  it  of  blood-red  canvas.  This  it  was  whi.,h  had  given  to 
that  ship  the  sobriquet  of  Red  Rover.  The  scarlet  flag  was  then 
run  up  to  the  peak  of  the  gaff,  the  crews  were  sent  to  quarters, 
and  everything  put  into  perfect  trim  for  battle. 

Captain  Bignal  could  hardly  believe  his  ears  when  Wilder, 
known  to  him  as  Lieutenant  Ark,  assured  him  that  the  com- 
mander he  had  just  entertained  in  his  cabin  was  nothing  less 
than  the  famous  Red  Rover,  to  capture  whom  was  equivalent  to 
earning  a  high  commission  in  the  British  navy. 

"It  can't  be  possible,"  exclaimed  Captain  Bignal;  "why, 
the  fellow  actually  invited  me  to  dine  with  him,  and  everything 
about  him  showed  the  gentleman." 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  179 

"Notwithstanding,  sir,  every  word  I  am  telling  you  is  strictly 
true.  If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  also  advise  you  to  take  no 
chances  with  him.  He  doubtless  is  in  many  respects  a  gentle- 
man, but  he  has  no  superior  as  a  seaman;  his  crew  is  trained 
to  the  last  degree,  and  it  will  take  no  ordinary  fighting,  even 
with  our  British  sailors,  to  get  the  better  of  him.  You  have 
no  time  to  lose,  sir." 

Captain  Bignal  looked  incredulous;  but  he  decided  to  follow 
this  advice  at  once. 

In  the  meantime  the  Red  Rover  was  stripping  off  her  lighter 
sails  and  moving  toward  the  enemy  with  masterly  evolutions. 
Her  guns  were  aimed  especially  at  the  masts  and  rigging  of  the 
Dart,  and  the  result  was  soon  apparent.  The  wind,  already 
light,  was  still  more  deadened  by  the  explosion  of  cannon,  and 
the  smoke,  instead  of  blowing  away,  settled  down  on  the  ships 
which  were  thus  almost  concealed  from  each  other  in  a  short 
time.  But  the  smoke  also  prevented  notice  of  the  swift  ap- 
proach of  one  of  those  sudden,  violent  squalls  which  come  so 
often  against  the  trade  winds  in  those  waters.  The  Rover 
seems  to  have  perceived  it  first  and  was  prepared.  At  any  rate 
when  the  wind  struck  the  Dart,  her  masts,  excepting  the  three 
lower  ones,  were  so  crippled  already  by  shot  that  they  were  swept 
away  in  an  instant.  This  settled  the  fate  of  the  battle.  The 
storm  passed  by,  and  the  Rover  was  able  to  select  her  own 
position  for  boarding.  The  fight  was  soon  over.  The  Rover 
himself  hauled  down  the  English  colors  with  exultation,  and 
the  pirates  prepared  to  plunder  and  slaughter.  But  first  they 
seized  on  Wilder,  Fid,  and  Scipio,  the  latter  already  mortally 
wounded,  put  ropes  around  their  necks  and  were  about  to 
trice  them  up  to  the  yard-arms. 

At  this  intense  moment  Mrs.  Wyllis  rushed  to  the  rescue 
with  all  the  yearning  of  a  mother's  heart.  She  had  learned 
that  very  day  that  Wilder,  or  Ark,  was  originally  named  Wyllis, 
and  was  her  son,  lost  in  childhood.  The  details  do  not  concern 
this  story.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  her  pleadings  caused  the  ruf- 
fians to  hesitate;  and  the  Rover  turned  the  scale  by  rushing  on 
the  scene  with  drawn  sword,  swearing  that  now  the  battle 
was  over  he  would  cut  down  anyone  who  indulged  in  massacre 
of  the  \anquishcd. 


i8o  THE   RED   ROVER 

A  calm  night  followed.  The  Rover  magnanimously  turned 
the  English  ship  over  to  the  charge  of  Wilder,  or  Ark,  now  her 
commander  since  Captain  Bignal  was  killed.  Those  who  es- 
caped uninjured  from  the  fight  on  both  sides  passed  the  night  in 
repairing  damages.  The  next  day,  after  sailing  together  for  a 
while,  the  English  ship  followed  her  course  alone. 

As  for  the  Red  Rover,  her  commander  told  his  crew  that  the 
ship  was  his  own;  but  whatever  riches  they  found  in  the 
Dolphin  they  could  have,  and  welcome.  After  they  had  ran- 
sacked the  famous  ship,  he  signaled  a  passing  coaster  to  come 
alongside,  and  contracted  with  her  skipper  to  land  the  crew  of 
pirates  at  some  bayou  or  other  point  along  the  shore. 

After  they  had  gone,  smoke  was  seen  issuing  from  the  gallant 
and  so  long  successful  Dolphin,  surnamed  Red  Rover.  As  the 
flames  extended,  her  shotted  guns  were  heard  going  off  one  by 
one.  Then  followed  a  terrific  explosion  that  shook  the  distant 
British  ship  and  every  other  vessel  for  miles  around.  Some 
there  were  who  said  they  saw,  when  all  was  over,  a  mere  speck 
of  a  boat  making  off  in  the  distance. 

Years  passed.  The  war  of  the  American  Revolution  was 
over,  when  one  evening  a  dying  oflicer  with  gray  hair,  borne  in 
a  litter  and  attended  by  a  lady  who  still  showed  traces  of  beauty, 
applied  for  shelter  at  the  house  of  a  well-known  family  of  New- 
port with  which  he  claimed  to  be  connected.  All  he  asked 
was  a  place  to  die.  He  was  received  with  welcome  and  kindness. 
Under  an  assumed  name  he  had  entered  heartily  into  the  war  of 
freedom  and  fought  the  enemies  of  his  native  land,  against  whom, 
under  various  guises,  his  hand  had  been  chiefly  raised  before 
actual  war  had  been  declared.  As  he  felt  the  last  moment  ap- 
proaching, he  drew  from  under  his  head  the  flag  of  his  country; 
and  as  the  folds  fell  over  his  heart  he  sought  to  raise  it  with 
his  hand,  and  smiling  strangely,  exclaimed,  "We  have  tri- 
umphed I"     Thus  passed  away  the  Red  Rover. 


THE   PRAIRIE  (1827) 

This,  the  fifth  and  final  volume  of  the  Leather-Stocking  Tales,  closes  the 
career  of  Natty  Bumppo,  variously  known  in  the  other  novels  as  Hawk  Eye, 
Deerslayer,  Pathfinder,  etc.  His  bravery,  firmness  of  character,  and  woodland 
skill  make  him  a  type  of  the  hardy  pioneers  that  pushed  westward  the  reign  of 
civilization.  In  the  present  volume  he  is  represented  as  a  trapper  of  the  prairies 
of  the  great  West.  Driven  by  the  sound  of  the  ax  from  his  beloved  forests,  he 
seeks  a  refuge  on  the  denuded  plains  that  stretch  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and 
passes  there  the  closing  years  of  his  life. 

N  1804,  the  year  after  the  purchase  of  Louisiana, 
when  many  emigrant  trains  moved  westward  in 
search  of  new  homes,  a  train  of  wagons  was  mov- 
ing slowly  over  the  hard,  unyielding  soil  between 
the  La  Plata  and  the  bases  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, where  the  withered  grass  was  too  sour  to 
tempt  the  appetites  of  the  cattle.  The  party 
exceeded  in  number  twenty  persons  of  both 
sexes.  In  front  marched  a  tall,  sunburnt  man, 
of  a  dull  countenance  and  listless  manner,  who  appeared 
to  be  the  leader.  His  motley  costume  of  coarse  wool  and 
leather  was  ornamented  with  a  prodigal  display  of  ill-chosen 
ornaments,  including  the  trinkets  of  three  worthless  watches; 
his  buttons  were  of  Mexican  silver  coins,  and  his  rifle  and  knife 
■  were  banded  with  silver.  Besides  his  weapons  and  pack,  he 
carried  a  bright  wood-ax  on  his  shoulder. 

A  short  distance  in  the  rear  marched  a  group  of  youths,  very 
similarly  attired,  of  sufficient  resemblance  to  each  other  and 
to  the  leader  to  distinguish  them  as  children  of  one  family. 
But  two  of  the  women  had  arrived  at  maturity;  the  elder,  the 
mother  of  the  party,  hard-featured,  sallow,  and  wrinkled;  the 
younger,  a  sprightly  girl  of  eighteen,  who  appeared  in  dress 
and  mien  to  belong  to  a  station  in  society  some  gradations 
alcove  her  companions.  From  the  foremost  wagon  peered 
several  tow-headed  children.    The  second  vehicle  was  covered 

181 


i82  THE   PRAIRIE 

with  a  top  of  cloth  so  closely  drawn  as  to  conceal  its  contents; 
the  rest  were  loaded  with  furniture  and  personal  effects. 

As  the  party  journeyed  on,  the  figure  of  a  man  suddenly 
appeared  on  a  neighboring  hillock.  A  pause  was  made  to 
reconnoiter,  but  as  the  figure  neither  moved  nor  gave  any 
evidence  of  hostility,  the  caravan  went  on  toward  him.  As  the 
leader  drew  near  he  saw  a  man  on  whom  time  had  laid  a  heavy 
hand,  his  form  withered  but  not  wasted,  his  sinews  and  muscles, 
evidenth'  once  of  great  strength,  shrunken  but  still  visible. 
His  dress  was  chiefly  of  skins,  worn  with  the  hair  to  the  weather, 
and  he  leaned  on  a  rifle  of  uncommon  length,  which  bore  marks 
of  long  service.  When  the  party  came  within  speaking  distance, 
a  low  growl  issued  from  the  grass  at  the  man's  feet,  and  a  tall, 
gaunt,  toothless  hound  arose  lazily  and  shook  himself. 

"Down,  Hector,  down!"  said  his  master,  in  a  voice  a  little 
tremulous.  "What  have  ye  to  do,  pup,  with  men  who  journey 
on  their  lawful  callings?" 

"Stranger,"  asked  the  leader,  "can  you  tell  a  traveler  where 
he  may  find  necessaries  for  the  night?" 

"Advice  is  not  a  gift,  but  a  debt  that  the  old  owe  to  the 
young.    What  would  you  wish  to  know?" 

"Where  I  may  camp  for  the  night." 

"Come  with  me,  though  I  can  offer  little  more  on  this 
hungry  prairie  than  sweet  water  and  good  browse  for  your 
cattle." 

The  old  man  raised  his  heavy  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and  led 
the  way  over  the  acclivity  to  the  adjacent  bottom,  where  he 
pointed  out  a  clear  and  gurgling  spring. 

"Ay,  this  may  do,"  said  the  leader.  "Boys,  you  have  seen 
the  last  of  the  sun;   be  stirring." 

The  cattle  were  liberated  and  other  preparations  made  for 
the  night,  while  the  stranger  stood  by,  a  silent  but  attentive 
observer.  He  noted  that  the  closely  covered  wagon  was  rolled 
apart  from  the  others  by  several  of  the  men,  and  that  a  tent 
was  erected  over  it,  after  which  the  wagon  was  drawn  out.  A 
few  light  pieces  of  furniture  were  put  into  the  tent  by  the  leader 
with  his  own  hands,  after  which  its  folds  were  jealously  arranged 
as  if  to  preclude  scrutiny. 

The  old  man,  who  had  watched  this  proceeding  with  curi- 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  183 

osity,  approached  the  tent  with  the  obvious  object  of  making 
a  closer  examination,  when  he  was  rudely  drawn  back. 

"It's  an  honest  regulation,  friend,"  said  the  fellow,  "and 
sometimes  a  safe  one,  that  says  'Mind  your  own  business.'" 

"Men  seldom  bring  anything  to  be  concealed  into  these 
deserts,"  said  the  old  man,  "and  I  had  hoped  no  offense  in 
examining  your  comforts." 

"They  seldom  bring  themselves,  I  reckon." 

"I  say  again,  friend,  I  meant  no  harm.  I  did  not  know  but 
there  was  something  behind  the  cloth  that  might  bring  former 
days  to  my  mind." 

As  the  old  man  walked  meekly  away,  he  heard  the  leader 
call  aloud,  "Ellen  Wade!"  And  the  young  girl,  who  had 
been  occupied  around  the  fire,  passed  by  and  entered  the  for- 
bidden tent. 

The  trapper,  as  he  described  himself  in  a  later  conversation, 
stayed  with  the  party  until  the  first  watch  of  the  night,  when 
he  slowly  wandered  off.  When  he  reached  a  small  rise,  he 
paused  and  looked  back,  while  the  hound  crouched  at  his  feet. 
A  low  growl  from  the  dog  aroused  him  from  his  musing. 

"What  is  it,  pup?    Speak  plainer — what  is  it?" 

The  hound,  apparently  satisfied  with  his  warning,  laid  his 
nose  to  the  ground  and  was  silent;  but  the  trapper's  keen  eye 
detected  a  figure  coming  toward  him. 

"Come  nigher,  we  are  friends,"  he  said;  "none  will  harm 
you." 

Encouraged  by  his  words  a  woman  came  forward,  whom 
he  at  once  recognized  as  the  girl  called  Ellen  Wade. 

"I  thought  I  knew  the  whine  of  the  hound,"  she  said. 

"I  saw  no  dogs  among  the  teams  of  your  father,"  said  the 
trapper. 

"Father!"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "I  have  no  father!  I  had 
nearly  said  no  friend." 

"Why  then  do  you  come  where  none  but  the  strong  should 
come?"  he  demanded.  "I  hope,  young  woman,  if  you  have 
no  father,  you  have  at  least  a  brother." 

"Heaven  forbid  that  any  such  as  you  have  seen  should  be  a 
brother  of  mine,  or  anything  else  near  or  dear  to  me!  But  do 
you  actually  live  alone  in  this  desert  district,  old  man?" 


1 84  THE   TRAIRIE 

"There  are  thousands  of  the  rightful  owners  roving  about 
the  plains;  but  few  of  our  own  color.  Hush,  Hector,  hush!" 
he  added,  as  the  dog  gave  a  low  and  nearly  inaudible 
growl. 

"The  dog  scents  mischief!" 

The  dog  now  looked  up  with  a  short  bark,  and  the  trapper, 
turning,  saw  a  man  coming  from  a  direction  opposite  that  of 
the  encampment. 

"It  is  a  white  man,"  said  he,  "or  his  step  would  be  lighter." 

"Call  in  3'our  dog,"  said  a  deep,  manly  voice.  "I  love  a 
hound,  and  should  be  sorry  to  do  him  an  injury." 

"You  may  come  on,  friend;   the  hound  is  toothless." 

The  stranger  sprang  eagerly  forward,  and  greeted  Ellen 
Wade;    then  closely  examined  her  companion. 

"From  what  cloud  have  you  fallen,  my  good  old  man?" 

"I  am  going  from  an  encampment  of  travelers,  over  yonder 
swell,  to  my  own  wigwam." 

"And  you  got  this  young  woman  to  show  you  the  way, 
because  she  knows  it  so  well?" 

"You've  said  enough,  Paul,"  interrupted  Ellen;  "our  secret 
will  be  safe  with  this  honest  old  man.     He  is  a  trapper." 

"Trapper!  Give  me  your  hand,  father;  our  trades  should 
make  us  acquainted.  I  am  a  bee-hunter.  Now  I  have  baited 
your  curiosity,  just  move  aside  while  I  tell  Ellen  the  rest  of 
my  story." 

The  old  man  stepped  out  of  ear-shot  and  left  the  lovers, 
who  for  some  reason  dared  not  be  seen  together  by  any  of  the 
travelers,  to  talk  alone.  As  he  sat  musing  on  the  strangeness 
of  the  meeting,  the  old  hound  once  more  sniffed  danger.  After 
listening  attentively,  the  trapper  again  approached  the  pair  and 
said:  "Children,  we  are  not  alone  in  these  dreary  fields;  others 
are  stirring  and  danger  is  nigh." 

"Buffalo,"  said  the  young  man.  "A  panther  is  driving  a 
herd  before  him." 

"Your  ears  are  cheats,"  said  the  old  man.  "The  leaps 
are  too  long  for  buffalo.    Here  they  come,  dead  upon  us." 

"Come,  Ellen,"  cried  Paul,  "let  us  make  a  trial  for  the 
encampment." 

"Too  late!"  exclaimed  the  trapper.     "I  see  them  now,  and 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  185 

a  bloody  band  of  accursed  Sioux  they  are.     Down  into  the  grass 
— down  with  ye  both,  if  you  value  the  gift  of  life!" 

It  was  indeed  too  late:  before  many  minutes  they  were 
prisoners  in  the  hands  of  a  band  of  about  thirty  Sioux,  under  a 
noted  chief  named  Mahtoree.  Leaving  them  in  charge  of  a 
savage  named  Weucha,  the  chief,  who  well  understood  that  the 
presence  of  a  woman  indicated  that  other  travelers  must  be 
near  by,  set  out  with  his  young  men  to  discover  them.  Af^er 
a  long  and  anxious  wait,  a  stampede  of  the  cattle  and  horses 
of  the  train  told  the  trapper  of  Mahtoree's  success.  As  the 
frightened  animals  swept  by,  the  attention  of  Weucha  was 
distracted  a  moment.  The  trapper,  noting  this,  seized  the 
knife  of  the  savage  and  with  a  single  cut  severed  the  thong  by 
which  the  horses  of  the  band  were  tethered.  The  animals 
snorted  with  joy  and  terror  and  ran  away  into  the  prairie  in 
every  direction.  Weucha  turned  upon  the  trapper  with  the 
ferocity  of  a  tiger,  fumbling  for  his  knife,  at  the  same  moment 
glancing  at  the  flying  horses.  Cupidity  prevailed,  and  leaving 
his  charge  he  dashed  after  the  horses. 

"Had  we  not  better  join  the  party  of  Ishmael?"  said  the 
bee-hunter. 

"No,  no,"  cried  Ellen.  "Go,  Paul,  leave  me.  You,  at 
least,  must  not  be  seen." 

Several  rifle-shots  broke  the  stillness  and  they  heard  the 
whistle  of  bullets  over  their  heads. 

"This  must  end,"  said  the  trapper,  rising.  "I  know  not 
what  need  ye  have,  children,  to  fear  those  you  should  both 
love  and  honor,  but  something  must  be  done  to  save  your  lives. 
Therefore  I  will  advance." 

"Who  comes — friend  or  foe?"  demanded  Ishmael,  as  the 
old  man  approached  the  wagons. 

"Friend;  one  who  has  lived  too  long  to  disturb  the  close  of 
life  with  quarrels." 

"But  not  so  long  as  to  forget  the  tricks  of  his  youth,"  said 
Ishmael.  "Old  man,  you  have  brought  this  tribe  of  red 
devils  upon  us,  and  to-morrow  you  will  be  sharing  the  booty." 

"He  who  ventures  far  into  the  prairie  must  abide  by  the 
ways  of  its  owners.  The  savages  held  me  a  prisoner  while 
they  stole  into  your  camp." 


iS6  THE   PRAIRIE 

"How  is  it,  stranger?  There  were  three  of  you  just  now, 
or  there  is  no  virtue  in  moonlight." 

"If  you  had  seen  so  many  black-looking  evil  ones  on  the 
heels  of  your  cattle,  my  friend,  it  would  have  been  easy  to  fancy 
them  a  thousand." 

"There'll  come  a  time,  stranger,  when  justice  will  be  done. 
There  are  few  men  living  who  can  say  they  ever  struck  a  blow 
that  they  did  not  get  one  as  hard  in  return  from  Ishmael 
Bush." 

"Then  has  Ishmael  Bush  followed  the  instinct  of  the  beasts 
rather  than  the  principle  which  ought  to  belong  to  his  kind," 
answered  the  stubborn  trapper. 

The  old  man  did  not  compose  himself  to  sleep  until  he  had 
assured  himself  that  Ellen  Wade  had  returned.  The  next 
morning  Ishmael  Bush,  left  thus  in  the  prairie  without  an 
animal  to  move  his  wagons,  said: 

"Come,  trapper,  let  us  not  waste  words  on  fooleries.  You 
have  tarried  long  in  this  clearing.  Now  I  ask  your  opinion, 
face  to  face :  if  you  had  the  lead  in  my  business,  what  would 
you  do?" 

The  trapper  hesitated,  as  if  reluctant  to  give  advice,  and 
then  replied : 

"Three  long  miles  from  this  spot  is  a  place  where  a  stand 
might  be  made  for  days  and  weeks  together,  if  hearts  and  hands 
were  ready  to  engage  in  the  bloody  work." 

After  a  few  more  inquiries,  Ishmael  set  about  his  work 
without  delay.  The  loaded  vehicles,  now  without  horses  or 
cattle,  were  to  be  drawn  by  hand  across  the  prairie  to  the  place 
indicated  by  the  trapper,  and  no  time  was  to  be  lost.  The 
old  man  stood  leaning  on  his  rifle  while  preparations  were  going 
on,  the  hound  at  his  feet,  a  silent  but  attentive  observer.  He 
was  especially  interested  in  the  movements  of  Ishmael  and  his 
assistant,  called  Abiram  White,  when  they  ran  the  little  wagon 
under  the  tent,  which  had  stood  apart  from  the  rest,  and 
arranged  its  folds  so  as  to  conceal  its  contents.  When  Ishmael 
observed  his  scrutinizing  gaze,  he  said  surlily: 

"Stranger,  I  did  believe  this  prying  into  the  concerns  of 
others  was  the  business  of  women  in  the  settlements,  and  not 
the  manner  in  which  men,  who  are  used  to  live  where  each  has 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  187 

room  for  himself,  deal  with  the  secrets  of  their  neighbors.  To 
what  sheriff  do  you  calculate  to  sell  your  news?" 

"I  hold  little  discourse  except  with  one — the  Judge  of  all," 
returned  the  old  man,  pointing  upward.  Little  does  He  need 
knowledge  from  my  hands,  and  but  little  will  your  wish  to  keep 
any  secret  from  Him  profit  you,  even  in  this  desert." 

Ishmael  Bush  found  the  place  suggested  by  the  trapper,  a 
high  rock  rising  above  the  plain,  with  difficult  approaches,  and 
established  his  family  there. 

Several  weeks  later  the  old  trapper,  Paul  Hover  the  bee- 
hunter,  and  Dr.  Obed  Battins  were  seated  around  a  fire 
beside  a  litde  run,  a  few  miles  from  Ishmael' s  stronghold,  dis- 
cussing a  buffalo's  hump.  The  doctor,  a  naturalist  who  had 
come  into  the  wilds  with  Ishmael,  had  been  absent  when  the 
cattle  were  stampeded,  and  had  therefore  saved  the  ass  on 
which  he  rode.  When  his  guest  had  appeased  his  hunger,  the 
trapper  asked  abruptly: 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  friend,  what  the  traveler  carries  under  the 
white  cloth  he  guards  so  carefully?" 

"You've  heard  of  it?"  exclaimed  the  other. 

"No,  I've  heard  nothing;  but  I  have  seen  the  cloth,  and 
had  like  to  have  been  bitten  for  wishing  to  know  what  it 
covered." 

"I  pined  greatly  to  know  the  contents  of  the  tent;  and  some 
ten  days  since,  Ishmael,  pitying  my  state,  imparted  the  fact  that 
the  vehicle  contained  a  beast  which  he  is  carrying  into  the 
prairies  as  a  decoy,  by  which  he  hopes  to  entrap  others  of  the 
same  genus,  or  perhaps  species." 

Paul  listened  to  the  doctor  in  profound  silence,  but  when 
he  had  finished,  shook  his  head  and  asked: 

"Harkee,  friend,  do  you  think  a  girl  like  Ellen  Wade  would 
become  the  companion  of  a  wild  beast?" 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  the  trapper  calmly  observed,  "  that  there 
is  something  dark  and  hidden  in  this  matter.  The  traveler 
likes  none  to  look  into  the  tent;  and  I  have  proof  that  the  wagon 
does  not  carry  the  cage  of  a  beast,  else  old  Hector  would  long 
since  have  told  me  of  it." 

"Do  you  pretend  to  oppose  a  dog  to  a  man,  instinct  to 
reason?"  exclaimed  the  doctor. 


i88  THE   PRAIRIE 

"Listen!  Do  you  hear  something  move  in  the  brake ?  The 
dog  hears  it,  and  knows  what  it  is.     Do  you?" 

"It  exceeds  the  Hmits  of  my  knowledge,"  rephed  the  doctor. 

"It  is  a  man!"  exclaimed  the  trapper,  rising.  "It's  a  man, 
if  I'm  a  judge  of  the  creatur's  ways." 

Paul  Hover  sprang  to  his  feet  and  threw  forward  his  rifle, 
crying: 

"Come  forward,  if  a  friend!" 

"A  friend  and  I  hope  a  Christian,"  returned  a  voice  from 
the  thicket  as  the  speaker  made  his  appearance.  He  wore  a 
forage-cap  of  blue  cloth,  with  a  soiled  gold  tassel  falling  amid 
a  mass  of  curling  black  hair.  Under  his  dark-green  hunting- 
shirt  with  yellow  fringes  were  visible  the  collar  and  lapels  of  9, 
jacket  of  cloth  similar  to  that  of  his  cap.  His  legs  were  pro- 
tected by  buckskin  leggings,  and  his  feet  by  moccasins.  Across 
his  shoulder  was  thrown  a  short  military  rifle,  and  he  wore  in  a 
red-silk  sash  a  straight  dirk  and  a  pair  of  pistols.  On  his  back 
he  bore  a  knapsack,  marked  with  the  initials  U.  S. 

The  newcomer  was  welcomed  to  a  place  beside  the  fire 
and  to  a  portion  of  the  feast.  When  he  had  appeased  his 
hunger,  he  satisfied  the  curiosity  of  his  new  companions  by 
displaying  a  commission  creating  Duncan  Uncas  Middleton  a 
captain  of  artillery  in  the  service  of  the  United  States. 

"Uncas!"  exclaimed  the  old  trapper.  "Tell  me,  lad,  by 
what  name  is  your  father  known  ?  " 

"He  was  an  oflTicer  of  the  States  in  the  War  of  the  Revolution, 
and  of  my  own  name.  My  mother's  brother  was  Duncan 
Uncas  Hey  ward." 

"Still  Uncas,"  said  the  old  man,  trembling  with  eagerness. 
"And  his  father?" 

"The  same  without  the  Uncas." 

"I  knowed  it!"  shouted  the  trapper.  "Tell  me,  is  he 
living?" 

"He  died  full  of  days  and  honors.  He  was  an  officer  of  the 
King,  but  when  the  war  between  the  crown  and  the  colonies 
took  place,  he  fought  on  the  side  of  hberty." 

"Come,  sit  ye  down  beside  me,  lad,  and  tell  me  about  your 
gran'ther." 

It  turned  out  that  Middleton  was  a  grandson  of  the  trapper's 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  189 

old  friend,  and  knew  all  about  his  early  history,  and  his  associa- 
tion with  Uncas  or  the  Great  Serpent,  when  acting  as  a  scout 
for  the  English  army.  The  soldier  could  scarcely  believe  that 
the  old  but  still  active  man  beside  him  was  the  one  of  whom  he 
had  heard  in  the  family  traditions,  but  he  was  finally  convinced 
that  there  was  no  mistake. 

"I  have  now  a  dog,  not  far  from  this,  who  is  come  of  a 
hound  belonging  to  that  scout,  and  of  the  stock  he  always 
used  himself." 

"Hector!"  said  the  old  man,  struggling  to  conquer  his 
emotions.  "Do  ye  hear  that,  pup!  your  kin  and  blood  are  in 
the  prairies!" 

"But  why  do  I  find  you,  venerable  friend  of  my  parents,  in 
these  wastes,  so  far  from  comfort  and  safety  ?  " 

"I  have  come  into  these  plains  to  escape  the  sound  of  the 
ax.  Are  you  of  the  party  that  the  States  have  sent  into  their 
new  purchase  to  look  after  their  bargain  ?  " 

"I  am  not.     I  come  on  a  private  adventure." 

Meanwhile  Ishmael  Bush  and  his  party  had  become  domi- 
ciled in  the  rocky  fortress  which  the  trapper  had  recommended. 
At  nightfall,  after  a  day  of  hunting,  Ishmael  and  his  followers 
returned  laden  with  spoil;  but  Asa  was  missing.  As  savages 
were  abroad,  his  coming  was  eagerly  watched  for  during  the 
night,  but  in  vain ;  and  in  the  morning  a  party  set  out  in  search 
of  him.  After  a  long  search,  the  dead  body  of  Asa  was  found 
in  a  copse  with  the  ground  around  it  saturated  with  blood  and 
marked  with  signs  of  a  deadly  struggle. 

"He  has  been  shot  in  the  open  and  come  here  for  a  cover," 
said  Abiram.  "The  boy  has  been  set  upon  by  savages  and 
has  fou't  like  a  hero  until  they  mastered  his  strength  and  drew 
him  to  the  bushes." 

On  examination,  it  was  found  that  a  rifle-bullet  had  passed 
through  the  body  from  behind,  coming  out  through  the  breast. 
The  bullet  was  found  still  sticking  in  his  clothing.  Ishmael 
took  it  and  examined  it  closely.  "There's  no  mistake,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  from  the  pouch  of  that  accursed  trapper.  He  has 
a  mark  in  his  mold,  and  here  you  see  it  plainly — six  little  holes." 

"I'll  swear  to  it,"  cried  Abiram.  "He  showed  me  the 
private  mark  himself." 


1 9© 


THE   PRAIRIE 


While  the  search  for  Asa  was  going  on,  the  party  of  the 
trapper,  including  Paul  Hover  the  bee-hunter,  Middleton,  and 
Doctor  Battins,  had  made  a  descent  on  the  stronghold  of 
Ishmael,  which  had  been  left  in  charge  of  Ellen,  and  captured 
it.  To  explain  this  move,  it  is  necessary  to  say  that  Captain 
]Middlcton  had  come  into  the  wilderness  in  search  of  his  wife, 
who,  he  had  every  reason  to  believe,  had  been  abducted  by 
Ishmael  and  Abiram  White  in  hope  of  obtaining  a  heavy 
ransom.  Middleton,  sent  out  by  the  government  to  take 
possession  of  its  newly  acquired  territory,  had  met  his  fate  in  the 
person  of  Dona  Inez,  daughter  of  Don  Augustin  de  Certavallos, 
a  Spanish  grandee  who  had  removed  from  the  Floridas  into 
Louisiana  on  inheriting  a  rich  succession.  On  the  evening  of 
their  marriage,  his  wife  had  left  him  to  pay  a  promised  visit  to 
her  old  nurse,  promising  to  return  in  an  hour.  Middleton 
waited  impatiently  an  hour  and  a  half  and  then  hastened  to 
the  cottage  of  the  nurse,  to  learn  that  his  bride  had  left  some 
time  before  to  return  to  her  father's  house.  He  hurried  back, 
to  hear  that  she  had  not  been  seen.  Inquiries  the  next  morning 
brought  no  news  of  her;  and  as  day  succeeded  day  without 
tidings,  she  was  finally  given  up  by  her  kindred  for  lost. 

But  Middleton,  who  entertained  a  secret  hope  that  he 
should  yet  find  her,  never  abandoned  inquiries;  and  when  at 
last  he  was  rewarded  by  hearing,  from  a  drunken  candidate 
for  the  guard-house,  that  his  wife  had  been  abducted  by  one 
Abiram  White,  who,  in  company  with  his  wife's  brother  and 
seven  sons,  had  gone  none  knew  whither,  he  determined  to 
pursue  the  scoundrels  to  the  end  of  the  world  if  necessary. 

The  reunion  of  Middleton  and  his  wife,  whom  the  reader 
will  now  recognize  as  the  wild  animal  Ishmael  had  guarded  so 
secretly  and  carefully  in  the  covered  wagon,  was  a  happy  one; 
but  it  was  soon  cut  short  by  the  trapper,  who  insisted  on  moving 
on  at  once. 

"There's  no  time  for  words,"  he  said.  "The  squatter  and 
his  brood  are  within  a  mile  or  two  of  this  spot." 

Paul  would  not  go  without  Ellen;  and  so  Ellen,  leaving 
behind  the  children  of  the  squatter  to  care  for  themselves, 
accompanied  the  party.  The  sagacity  of  the  trapper,  amount- 
ing almost  to  instinct,  led  him  to  follow  the  little  stream,  as  it 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  191 

placed  the  hill  between  them  and  the  squatter's  party  and 
led  them  to  a  small  thicket  of  cottonwood  and  vines,  which 
stretched  v/estward  nearly  a  mile.  As  they  came  to  this  spot 
the  old  hound  began  a  low  piteous  whining. 

"Ay,  pup,  ay,"  said  the  old  man.     "I  know  the  spot." 

"This  is  where  the  body  of  the  dead  man  lay,"  said  Middle- 
ton. 

"The  very  same.  Advance,  friend  bee-hunter,  and  ex- 
amine, while  I  keep  the  dogs  quiet." 

But  Paul  declined,  asserting  that  while  he  did  not  fear  any 
living  man,  he  was  averse  to  meddling  with  dead  men's  bones. 
The  doctor  announced  that  he  was  willing  to  make  the  search; 
but  he  had  advanced  only  a  few  steps,  when  he  backed  out 
again,  with  his  eyes  fixed  and  staring,  and  exclaiming:  "It  is 
a  basilisk!" 

"What  is't?  what  is't?"  asked  the  trapper.  "Lord,  lord, 
what  a  humbling  thing  is  fear!     Show  me  the  creatur'." 

The  trapper  advanced,  with  his  rifle  thrown  forward,  and 
saw  a  pair  of  dark,  glaring,  and  moving  eyeballs. 

"Your  reptile  is  a  scouter,"  he  muttered,  "or  Pm  no  judge 
of  Indian  deviltries!"  Then,  looking  to  the  priming  of  his 
rifle,  he  deliberately  presented  his  piece,  saying: 

"Now,  friend,  I  am  all  for  peace,  or  all  for  war,  as  you 
say.  Well,  if  it  is  not  a  man,  there  can  be  no  harm  in  firing  into 
a  bunch  of  leaves." 

The  muzzle  of  his  rifle  fell  and  he  took  a  steady  aim,  when  a 
tall  Indian  sprang  from  under  a  bed  of  leaves,  and  stood  up- 
right, with  the  exclamation     "Wagh!" 

The  old  trapper  recognized  him  as  a  Pawnee-Loup;  audit 
finally  turned  out  that  he  was  Hard-Heart,  the  chief  of  the 
tribe,  who  was  out  on  a  scout  in  search  of  his  enemies  the 
Sioux.  His  horse,  a  splendid  animal,  with  mane  and  tail 
braided  with  silver  balls,  was  concealed  near  by.  After  a 
brief  and  amicable  colloquy  with  the  trapper,  he  sprang  into 
his  splendid  Spanish  saddle  and  disappeared  over  the  hill. 

Event  now  followed  event  with  rapidity.  The  party 
escaped  a  stampede  of  buffaloes,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Mahtoree's  band,  who  were  pursuing  the  animals;  and  on 
escaping  from  the  Sioux,  were  saved  from  a  prairie-fire  through 


102  THE   PRAIRIE 

the  skill  of  the  trapper.  They  again  fell  in  with  Hard-Heart, 
who  had  saved  himself  from  the  fire  by  hiding  under  a  wet 
buffalo-hide,  and  were  enabled  by  him  to  cross  the  river.  But 
scarcely  had  they  reached  what  they  hoped  was  a  place  of 
safety,  when  they  were  once  more  surrounded  and  captured 
by  Mahtoree  and  his  band,  with  whom  were  Ishmael  and  his 
family.  Mahtoree  had  cast  covetous  eyes  on  the  two  women 
and,  determined  to  possess  them,  had  made  an  agreement  with 
the  squatter  to  return  his  horses  and  cattle  in  exchange  for 
Inez  and  Ellen.  Hard-Heart,  the  young  chief  of  the  Pawnees, 
who  had  been  captured  with  the  rest,  was  about  to  be  subjected 
to  torture  when  he  escaped,  crossed  the  river  and  joined  his 
followers,  a  band  of  mounted  warriors  who  were  in  search  of 
him.  Mounting  a  led  horse  and  arming  himself,  he  challenged 
Mahtoree  to  single  combat  and  slew  him.  In  the  general 
battle  that  followed  the  Sioux  were  defeated  and  scattered, 
and  their  prisoners  forgotten. 

Meanwhile,  Ishmael,  taking  advantage  of  the  fight,  seized 
and  bound  Middleton,  Paul,  and  the  trapper,  and  placing  the 
women  on  horses,  started  for  his  encampment.  On  the  following 
morning  he  held  a  sort  of  court  in  the  open  plain,  Hard-Heart 
being  the  only  one  of  the  victorious  Pawnees  present.  The 
squatter  first  examined  Middleton  and  Paul  Hover  and  exoner- 
ated them;  but  held  the  old  trapper,  accusing  him  of  the 
murder  of  Asa.  The  trapper,  however,  proved  conclusively 
his  innocence  of  the  deed,  of  which  he  had  been  a  witness,  and 
pointed  out  Abiram  as  the  culprit. 

"He  lies!  he  lies!"  shrieked  Abiram.  "I  did  no  murder; 
I  gave  but  blow  for  blow." 

"It  is  enough,"  said  Ishmael  in  an  awful  voice.  "Let 
the  old  man  go.  Boys,  bind  the  brother  of  your  mother  in  his 
place." 

Middleton  and  Inez,  Paul  and  Ellen,  the  trapper,  and  Dr. 
Battins,  took  a  short  and  silent  leave  of  the  squatter,  and 
followed  the  victorious  Hard-Heart  to  the  Pawnee  village, 
where  the  Captain  found  his  company  of  artillerymen  awaiting 
him. 


THE  WEPT  OF  WISH-TON-WISH  (1829) 

The  story  takes  its  title  from  the  inscription  on  the  tombstone  covering  the 
remains  of  those  who  fell  in  the  defense,  against  an  attack  of  Indians,  of  Wish- 
Ton-Wish,  an  early  settlement  on  the  Connecticut  River,  above  Hartford.  The 
name  is  said  to  have  been  given  to  the  place  by  Mark  Heathcote  because  the 
Wish-Ton-Wish,  the  American  night-hawk,  commonly  called  from  its  cry 
Whip-poor-Will,  was  the  first  bird  seen.  But  the  title  is  a  misnomer,  for 
Wish-Ton-Wish  is  the  name  given  by  the  Indians  to  the  prairie-dog.  Air. 
Cooper  has  taken  still  greater  liberties  with  history  in  his  account  of  the  life  and 
death  of  Conanchet,  or  rather  Canonchet,  as  it  is  properly  written,  the  unfortu- 
nate chief  of  the  Narragansetts.  He  was  captured  in  1676  on  the  Blackstone 
River,  in  Rhode  Island,  and  executed  at  Stonington  in  New  London  County. 

APTAIN  MARK  HEATHCOTE,  a  country 
gentleman  of  means  in  old  England,  after  serv- 
ing under  Cromwell  in  the  civil  wars,  threw 
aside  the  sword  for  the  implements  of  industry, 
and  emigrated  to  New  England.  A  man  of 
deep  and  sincere  piety,  bordering  on  fanaticism, 
he  thought  to  secure  in  the  wilds  of  the  New 
World  the  peace  and  religious  enjoyment  that 
were  denied  him  at  home.  He  was  twenty  years 
the  senior  of  his  young  wife;  and  he  considered  that,  in  the 
natural  order  of  things,  he  himself  would  be  the  first  to  pay 
the  debt  of  nature;  but  the  very  day  he  landed  in  the  long- 
wished-for  asylum,  his  wife  made  him  the  father  of  a  noble 
boy  at  the  price  of  her  own  existence.  Though  this  calamity 
cast  an  additional  aspect  of  seriousness  over  his  character,  he 
lived  on  more  than  twoscore  years  in  the  colony  of  Massachu- 
setts, respected  by  all;  and  when,  influenced  by  certain  schisms 
and  doctrinal  contentions  in  the  community  where  he  had  cast 
his  lot,  he  announced  his  intention  of  removing  his  altars  into 
the  wilderness,  the  ministers  and  elders  did  their  best  to  induce 
him  to  change  his  mind,  but  in  vain. 

"My  youth  was  wasted  in  ungodliness  and  ignorance,"  he 
said,  "but  in  my  manhood  have  I  known  the  Lord.     Much 
A.  D.,  VOL.  v. — 13  193 


194  THE  WEPT   OF  WISH-TON-WISH 

have  I  endured  in  quitting  the  earthly  mansion  of  my  fathers, 
and  in  encountering  the  dangers  of  sea  and  land  for  the  faith; 
and,  rather  than  let  go  its  hold,  will  I  once  more  cheerfully 
devote  to  the  wilderness  ease,  offspring,  and,  should  it  be  the 
will  of  Providence,  life  itself!" 

Mark  Heathcote  had  early  given  evidence  of  his  resignation 
to  the  will  of  Providence  when  he  christened  his  son  Content. 
The  boy  had  now  reached  manhood,  and  a  week  before  the 
father  sailed  on  his  second  pilgrimage  he  was  united  to  Ruth 
Harding,  a  maiden  of  Boston,  of  equal  station  and  fortune,  and 
of  like  sympathies  with  his  own.  The  family  sailed  from 
Boston  and  in  due  time  landed  at  the  fort  of  Hartford  on  the 
Connecticut  River,  whence  Mark  Heathcote,  with  a  few  fol- 
lowers, went  on  an  exploring  expedition  into  the  wilderness; 
and  the  end  of  the  summer  found  him  comfortably  settled  on  a 
small  tributary  of  the  Connecticut  near  the  northern  boundary 
of  Hartford.  Here,  in  utter  seclusion  from  the  world,  the  years 
glided  by,  until  through  hard  labor  the  family  found  them- 
selves in  possession  of  as  many  of  the  comforts  of  life  as  their 
distance  from  the  settlements  could  allow  them  reason  to 
expect. 

Captain  Heathcote,  with  an  eye  to  defense  in  this  exposed 
situation,  had  taken  advantage  of  a  rounded  knoll  in  con- 
structing his  buildings,  which  occupied  three  sides  of  a  hollow 
square,  with  a  strong  hexagonal  blockhouse  on  an  artificial 
mound  in  the  center.  The  foundations  of  this  blockhouse 
were  of  stone  for  about  six  feet,  above  which  its  walls  were  of 
massive,  squared  logs.  It  had  but  one  entrance  and  no  windows; 
but  in  the  several  stories  were  two  different  tiers  of  loopholes  for 
musketry.  About  halfway  up  the  sides  of  the  hill  on  which  the 
buildings  stood  was  a  line  of  strong  palisades  built  of  the 
trunks  of  trees  strongly  braced  within.  The  stables  and  sheds 
for  cattle  and  sheep  were  outside  the  palisade  at  the  base  of  the 
hill,  and  were  surrounded  by  fine  meadows  and  orchards 
stretching  back  to  the  forest  in  the  rear. 

At  the  time  of  our  tale  Mark  Heathcote  had  long  since 
yielded  the  management  of  the  estate  to  Content,  but  enjoyed 
riding  through  his  fields  to  see  the  growing  crops  and  the 
increasing  flocks  and  herds.     One  evening  he  was  watching  his 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  195 

grandson  Mark,  a  boy  of  fourteen,  driving  in  a  small  flock  of 
sheep,  which  domestic  necessity  obliged  them  to  keep  at  the 
expense  of  time  and  trouble,  on  account  of  the  ravages  of  beasts 
of  prey.     On  counting  the  sheep  one  was  missing. 

"Thou  hast  lost  a  sheep!  This  carelessness  will  cause  thy 
mother  to  grieve," 

"  Grandfather,  I  have  been  no  idler.  Since  the  last  hunt  the 
flock  hath  been  allowed  to  browse  the  woods;  for  no  man  saw 
wolf,  panther,  or  bear  from  the  great  river  to  the  outer  settle- 
ments." 

"What  art  thou  twisting  in  thy  fingers,  Whittal  Ring?" 
asked  the  old  man  of  a  half-witted  servin-glad. 

"Wool  from  the  thigh  of  old  Straight-Horns.  He  gives  the 
longest  and  coarsest  hair  at  the  shearing." 

"That  truly  seemeth  a  lock  from  the  missing  animal,"  said 
young  Mark.     "Where  found  you  it,  Whittal ? " 

"Growing  on  the  branch  of  a  thorn.     Queer  fruit  this!" 

"  Go,"  interrupted  the  old  man,  "thou  idlest  and  misspendest 
the  time  in  vain  talk.     Go  fold  thy  flock,  Mark." 

While  they  had  been  talking  a  stranger  had  ridden  out  of 
the  forest  and  appeared  to  be  coming  toward  the  houses.  Mark 
Heathcote,  who  watched  his  coming  with  surprise,  for  many  a 
day  had  passed  since  he  had  had  a  visitor,  noted  that  it  was 
an  elderly  man,  coarsely  clad,  and  that  he  rode  a  poor  and 
weary  horse  that  seemed  scarcely  able  to  carry  his  load. 

"I  cannot  be  mistaken,"  said  the  visitor,  "when  I  suppose 
I  have  at  length  reached  the  valley  of  the  Wish-Ton-Wish  ?  " 

"Thou  hast  reached  the  dwelling  of  him  thou  seekest,  a 
submissive  sojourner  in  the  wilderness  of  the  world." 

"This  then  is  Mark  Heathcote!"  remarked  the  stranger, 
regarding  the  other  with  a  look  of  long  and  possibly  of  suspicious 
investigation. 

"Such  is  the  name  I  bear.  Whether  thou  comcst  to  tarry 
a  night,  a  week,  or  even  for  a  longer  season,  I  bid  thee  welcome." 

The  stranger  thanked  his  host  by  a  slow  inclination  of  the 
head;  but  the  gaze,  which  began  to  partake  a  little  of  the  look 
of  recognition,  was  too  earnest  to  admit  of  reply.  It  was 
evident,  however,  that  personal  recollection  had  no  influence 
in  quickening  Mark  Heathcotc's  hospitality. 


196  THE   WEPT   OF   WISH-TON-WISH 

When  in  the  house  the  stranger  drew  a  pair  of  horseman's 
pistols  from  his  saddle-bags,  and  laid  them  on  the  table;  and, 
on  opening  his  doublet,  disclosed  a  smaller  one  and  a  hunting- 
knife.  When  he  laid  the  latter  beside  his  pistols,  the  young 
Mark  ventured  to  examine  it,  and  noted  that  a  few  fibers  of 
shaggy  wool  were  caught  in  tlu  joint. 

"Straight-Horns  has  been  against  a  bush  sharper  than  the 
thorn!"  exclaimed  Whittal  Ring,  snatching  the  fibers  and 
holding  them  up  in  glee,  "Master  knows  that,  for  he  is  a 
scholar  and  can  count  a  hundred." 

"This  feeble-minded  youth  would  hint  that  thy  knife  hath 
proved  its  edge  on  a  missing  wether  of  our  flock,"  said  the 
host  calmly. 

"Is  hunger  a  crime,"  demanded  the  stranger,  "that  they 
who  dwell  so  far  from  the  haunts  of  selfishness  visit  it  with 
their  anger?" 

"From  off  the  hill  where  my  flock  is  wont  to  graze  it  is 
easy  to  see  these  roofs." 

"Mark  Heathcotc,"  said  the  accused,  "look  further  at  those 
weapons.  Thou  wilt  find  there  more  to  wonder  at  than  a  few 
straggling  hairs  of  wool." 

Mark  Heathcote  took  up  one  of  the  heavy  horseman's 
pistols  and  examined  it.  As  he  looked,  the  power  of  speech 
seemed  to  desert  him.  His  eye  wandered  from  the  weapon  to 
the  countenance  of  the  stranger,  who  stood  erect  as  if  to  court  a 
strict  examination  of  his  person.  Content,  observing  the  dumb 
show,  arose  and  beckoned  all  to  follow  him  from  the  apartment, 
leaving  his  father  alone  with  the  stranger. 

Many  anxious  minutes  passed,  during  which  they  could 
hear  the  deep  smothered  voices  of  the  speakers,  but  nothing  to 
permit  a  conjecture  as  to  the  identity  of  the  visitor.  After  a 
long  time  the  voices  ceased  and  no  sound  came  from  the  inner 
room.  At  last  Content  ventured  to  enter.  Old  Mark  Heath- 
cote occupied  the  chair  in  which  he  had  been  left,  but  the 
stranger  had  disappeared,  as  well  as  all  his  belongings.  Con- 
tent read  in  the  expression  of  his  father's  eye  that  the  moment 
for  confidence  had  not  yet  come. 

The  old  man  lighted  a  taper,  and  after  asking  the  hour  of 
the  night,  said  to  his  son:  "Take  thou  the  beast  I  am  wont  to 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  197 

ride,  Content,  and  follow  the  path  leading  to  the  mountain 
clearing;  bring  away  that  which  shall  meet  thine  eye  near  the 
first  turning  of  the  route  towards  the  river  towns.  Let  the 
remainder  of  the  household  seek  their  rest." 

Content  saw,  by  the  manner  of  his  father,  that  no  departure 
from  the  strict  letter  of  his  instructions  was  admissible.  He 
dismissed  the  household  to  their  beds,  and  he  and  his  wife 
quitted  the  dwelling.  Ruth  would  have  accompanied  him, 
but  he  bade  her  remain  at  the  postern  and  await  his  return. 

Ruth  watched  her  husband  gallop  away  toward  the  forest, 
and  then,  drawing  a  single  bolt  of  the  gate,  anxiously  awaited 
the  result  of  an  errand  as  unaccountable  as  it  was  extraordinary. 
After  waiting  a  long  time,  she  opened  the  gate  and  began  to 
walk  slowly  along  the  path  her  husband  had  taken.  Anxiety 
quickened  her  steps  as  she  saw  no  signs  of  him;  and  at  last, 
remembering  that  she  had  left  the  postern  open,  she  turned  to 
go  back.  As  she  eagerly  picked  her  way  along  the  uneven 
surface,  her  eye  caught  something  that  looked  like  the  form  of 
a  man,  and  she  ran  with  all  possible  speed  back  to  the  gate. 
The  next  instant  she  caught  sight  of  her  husband  coming  out 
of  the  forest.  His  path  lay  past  the  spot  where  she  had  been 
frightened,  and,  opening  the  postern,  she  shouted  to  him  to 
come  directly  to  the  gate. 

"What  meaneth  this  terror,  Ruth?"  demanded  Content, 
as  he  galloped  imharmed  to  her  side.  He  removed  from  the 
crupper  of  his  horse  the  carcass  of  the  sheep,  which  he  had 
found  dressed  with  judgment,  hanging  on  the  limb  of  a 
tree. 

"This  is  not  the  work  of  a  Pequot!"  exclaimed  Ruth. 
"The  red  men  do  their  mischief  with  less  care.  But  where  is 
he  who  counseled  so  long  with  our  father  and  hath  vanished 
like  a  vision  ?  " 

"That  is  a  question  not  readily  answered,"  said  Content. 
"  It  mattereth  not.  The  affair  is  in  the  hands  of  a  man  of  years 
and  experience.  I  will  return  the  beast  to  his  rack,  and  we 
will  go  in  confidence  to  our  rest." 

"Husband,  thou  quittest  not  the  palisadoes  again  this 
night,"  said  Ruth  firmly.     "I  have  a  warning  of  evil." 

The  wife  then  told  how  she  had  followed  him  on  the  path 


198  THE   WEPT  OF  WISH-TON-WISH 

as  far  as  the  nut-tree  hillock,  and  had  seen  there  the  glowing 
eyeballs  of  a  savage. 

"This  is  strange  delusion!  Go,  go,  good  Ruth,  thou 
mayst  have  seen  a  blackened  log,  or  some  creature  of  the  forest 
may  have  alarmed  thee." 

But  Ruth  would  not  be  comforted  until  men  had  been 
summoned  and  an  examination  of  the  place  made.  Eben 
Dudley  and  Reuben  Ring  were  called,  and  with  them  Content 
went  out;  after  some  minutes  they  returned  with  an  Indian 
lad  of  some  fifteen  years,  who  walked  before  them  with  the  sullen 
dignity  of  a  captured  warrior. 

Content,  a  man  of  judgment  and  resolution,  knew  well  that 
the  Indian  youth  would  not  be  found  in  such  a  position  with- 
out design;  and  he  also  thought  that  his  capture  would  prob- 
ably cause  the  attack  to  be  deferred.  He  took  his  captive 
into]  the  blockhouse,  made  him  mount  by  a  ladder  to  the  floor 
above,  then  withdrew  the  ladder  and  locked  the  other  door. 
He  then  carefully  examined  the  defenses,  looked  to  the  muskets 
and  their  ammunition,  and  posted  sentinels;  and  it  was  not 
until  the  last  watches  of  the  night  that  he  felt  it  safe  to  seek  his 
pillow. 

In  the  morning  the  Indian  youth  was  taken  into  the  house 
and  examined  by  Mark  Heathcote;  but  it  was  found  impossible 
to  obtain  from  him  gesture  or  sound  that  would  betray  his 
tribe  or  the  purport  of  his  questionable  visit. 

"I  know  him  to  be  a  Narragansett,"  said  Eben  Dudley. 
"You  see  he  hath  shells  of  the  seaside  worked  into  the  border- 
ing of  his  moccasins.  He  beareth,  too,  the  look  of  a  chief  slain 
by  the  Pequots,  called  the  Leaping  Panther.  Others  styled 
him  Pepperage,  but  his  real  name  was  My  Anthony  Mow." 

"Miantonimoh!"  came  from  the  hps  of  the  boy,  with  a 
distinct  but  deeply  guttural  enunciation. 

"The  child  moumeth  for  his  parent,"  exclaimed  Ruth. 

"  I  see  the  evident  and  foreordering  will  of  a  wise  Providence 
in  this,"  said  Mark  Heathcote.  "The  youth  hath  been  de- 
prived of  one  who  might  have  enticed  him  deeper  into  the  bonds 
of  the  heathen,  and  hither  hath  he  been  led  in  order  to  be  placed 
upon  the  straight  and  narrow  path.  He  shall  become  a  dweller 
among  mine.     Let  him  be  fed  and  nurtured  with  the  things  of 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  199 

life  and  the  things  of  the  world;  for  who  knoweth  that  which 
is  designed  in  his  behalf  ?  " 

Meanwhile  the  keenest  scrutiny  in  the  fields  and  forest  failed 
to  find  signs  of  an  enemy;  and  as  the  captive  had  no  hostile 
weapons,  he  was  well  fed  and  cared  for.  He  had  scarcely  been 
returned  to  his  prison  when  Whittal  Ring  came  to  announce 
horsemen,  who  had  just  ridden  out  of  the  forest. 

"We  have  reached  Wish-Ton-Wish,  and  the  dwelling  of 
Captain  Mark  Heathcote?"  said  one  who  appeared  to  be  the 
principal  of  the  four  that  had  ridden  into  the  court. 

"By  the  favor  of  Providence,  I  call  myself  the  unworthy 
owner  of  this  place  of  refuge." 

"Then  a  subject  so  loyal  will  not  turn  from  his  door  the 
agents  of  his  anointed  Master." 

"One  greater  than  any  of  earth  hath  taught  us  to  leave  the 
latch  free.  I  pray  you  to  alight,  and  to  partake  of  that  we 
can  offer." 

After  breakfast,  the  leader  presented  to  the  host  a  commis- 
sion, bearing  the  great  seal  of  state,  empowering  the  bearer  to 
search  the  dwellings  of  the  colony. 

"Thou  hadst  better  commence  thy  duty  in  season,"  said 
the  host  calmly,  "for  we  are  many  and  occupy  much  space." 

The  family  and  all  the  retainers  were  gathered  and  put  in 
charge  of  one  Hallam,  while  the  others,  accompanied  by  Mark 
Heathcote,  made  a  thorough  examination  of  the  premises. 
Not  a  chest,  a  closet,  or  a  drawer  escaped  their  vigilance,  and 
every  floor  was  sounded  in  search  of  a  hidden  recess.  The 
blockhouse  was  the  last  place  searched,  and  when  they  found 
the  Indian  boy  in  the  upper  story,  they  inquired  of  Content, 
with  an  arrogance  increased  by  the  anger  of  disappointment 
at  not  finding  him  they  sought,  "Why  is  this  boy  a  prisoner? 
Dost  dare  to  constitute  thyself  a  sovereign  over  the  natives, 
and  affect  to  have  shackles  and  dungeons  for  such  as  meet 
thy  displeasure?" 

"The  youthful  heathen  was  found  lurking  near  our  habita- 
tions last  night,"  explained  Content,  "and  is  kept  that  he  may 
not  carry  tidings  of  our  condition  to  his  people,  who  arc  doubt- 
less outlying  in  the  forest,  waiting  for  the  fit  moment  to  work 
their  evil." 


200  THE   WEPT   OF  WISH-TON- WISH 

"In  the  forest,  didst  thou  say?  Go,  fellows,  see  to  our 
beasts,  and  let  them  be  speedily  prepared  for  departure," 

After  the  agents  of  the  crown  had  departed,  the  residents 
of  Wish-Ton-Wish  set  out,  under  the  command  of  Content, 
on  a  scout  to  determine  the  position  of  the  enemy,  if  any  were 
lurking  under  cover  of  the  forest.  They  found  no  traces  of 
savages,  though  they  saw  the  trail  of  the  four  horsemen,  and  of 
another  shodden  horse  leading  away  from  the  settlement.  On 
following  the  latter  into  the  forest  they  came  upon  the  carcass 
of  th?  horse  ridden  by  the  mysterious  visitor  of  the  night  before. 
The  iieck  of  the  animal  showed  marks  of  the  teeth  of  a  wolf 
and  the  cut  of  a  knife,  but  by  what  hand  was  uncertain.  All 
of  the  accouterments,  excepting  a  ruined  saddle,  were  gone. 

The  Indian  boy  was  kept  during  the  autumn  and  winter. 
He  showed  no  disposition  to  leave  them,  and  was  sometimes 
permitted  to  go  out  with  hunting-parties.  Once,  when  the 
huntsmen  returned,  the  lad  was  missing.  Shortly  afterward  a 
summons  was  heard  at  the  gate  and  the  mysterious  stranger 
was  admitted.  Young  Mark  noticed,  when  he  threw  off  his 
cloak,  that  he  wore  in  his  belt  the  heavy  horseman's  pistols  and 
the  dagger  that  he  had  seen  before. 

"Mark  Heathcote,"  said  he  to  the  elder  Mark,  "my  visit 
is  to  thee.  Affairs  of  the  last  moment  demand  that  there  should 
be  little  delay  in  hearing  what  I  have  to  offer." 

Alean while  search  was  made  for  the  Indian  boy. 

"Go  look  to  the  pahsadoes,"  said  Content  to  Eben  Dudley. 
"He  may  be  lurking  near,  fearful  of  calling  for  admission.  I  can 
not  think  the  child  means  to  desert  us,  with  no  sign  of  kindness 
and  without  leave-taking." 

As  they  spoke  the  door  opened  and  the  lad  glided  past  them 
and  took  his  accustomed  place  in  a  comer  of  the  room. 

' '  Truly,"  said  Content, ' '  this  needeth  explanation.  Hath  not 
the  boy  entered  when  the  gate  was  opened  for  the  stranger?" 

"It  is  so,"  said  the  person  named,  reentering  the  room. 
"I  found  this  child  near  thy  gate,  and  took  upon  me  the  office 
of  a  Christian  man  to  bid  him  welcome." 

"He  is  no  stranger  at  our  fires  or  at  our  board,"  said  Ruth. 

But  Eben  Dudley  was  incredulous.  "It  will  be  well  to 
look  to  the  defenses,"  he  said. 


914W    o3?oi; 


^H;   D)    ',-..  "    uofh   bnuol   aft^Bra^    ^cCl 


f»^\tiit.  .V\,  \\  ^i  Ho;\V\>r-     •  ■ 


200 


rnr  -IT  TON- WISH 


'  iji   iiii-  n.n.-,,,    J  ,v;  .     Go,  fellows,  see  to  our 

boasts,  and  li?t  them  V  v  prepared  for  departi;re." 

After  tlie  agents  o.f  tiit.  iiowu  had  departed,  the  residents 
of  Wish-1'on-Wish  set  out,  under  the  command  of  Content, 
on  a  scout  to  detennine  the  position  of  the  enemy,  if  any  were 
lurking  under  cover  of  the  forest.  They  found  no  traces  of 
savages,  though  they  saw  the  trail  of  the  four  horsemen,  and  of 
anoihcT  shodden  horse  leading  av/ay  from  the  settlement.  On 
following  the  latter  into  the  forest  they  came  upon  the  carcass 
of  tar  horse  ridden  by  the  mysterious  visitor  of  the  night  before. 
The  heck  of  the  animal  showed  marks  of  the  teeth  of  a  wolf 
and  the  cut  of  a  knife,  but  by  what  hand  was  uncertain.  All 
of  the  accoutennents,  excepting  a  ruined  saddle,  were  gone. 

The  Indian  boy  was  kept  during  the  autumn  and  winter. 
He  showed  no  disposition  to  leave  then),  and  was  sometimes 
permitted  to  go  out  vrith  hunting-parties.  Once,  when  the 
hmiAsmfn  rci  ..  ;'t\j.  ihe  lad  was  missing.  Shortlv  afterward  a 
summonFf  asT^^rra  m^  0i^^ri(Mki?^Bt^u^Mfmm%re ' 
was  admitted.  Young  MarkSRif?f?(^eld,  when  b'?  threw  ofl  his 
cloak,  that  h^^^^?^^]^V)(Ai  original  >o//,/h/^r*^yia^;s/^jStoIs  and 
the  dagger  that  he  had  ^i^  Mt^t^-  Mathe, 

"Mark  Heathcote,''  said  he  to  the  elder  Mark,  "my  visit 
is  to  thee.  Affairs  of  the  last  moment  demand  that  thei;c  should 
be  little  delay  in  hearir       '    '  '  '      e  to  offer." 

Meanv-h:k  -'rar-h  ■  :he  Indian  boy. 

"Go  !  ntent  to  Eben  Dudley. 

' '  He  may  oe  i  '   '  i:  Aiw  ission.     I  can 

not  think  th<^  lO  sigr>  of  kindness 

and  witho 

As  th(  \nd  the  lad  ^xjSicd  past  them 

and  took  1.  jromer  of  the  room. 

'  *  Truly," '  said  Con  rent,  *  this  needeth  explanation.  Hath  not 
the  boy  entered  when  the  gate  was  opened  for  the  stranger?" 

"It  is  so,"  .said  the  person  named,  reentering  the  room. 
"  I  found  this  child  neax  thy  gate,  and  took  upon  me  the  office 
of  a  Christian  man  to  bid  him  welcome." 

"He  is  no  stranger  at  our  fires  or  at  our  board,"  said  Ruth. 

But  Eben  Dudley  was  incredulous.  "It  will  be  well  to 
i.w.v  :-.  T>,e  defens'-^  '   '''    said. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  201 

Dudley  was  right.  That  night  the  place  was  attacked  by 
many  warriors,  and  all  the  long  range  of  barns,  sheds,  gran- 
aries and  outbuildings  w^ere  fired  and  destroyed.  At  the  first 
onset  of  the  savages  Ruth  had  gathered  all  the  children  into 
a  secret  chamber  in  the  attic  of  her  house  and  put  them  in 
charge  of  the  Indian  lad. 

"Thou  wih  not  deceive  me,"  she  said;  "the  lives  of  these 
tender  ones  are  in  thy  keeping.  Look  to  them,  Miantonimoh, 
and  the  Christians'  God  will  remember  thee  in  thine  own  hour 
of  adversity." 

The  boy  made  no  reply;  but  the  mother  thought  she  saw 
the  pledge  she  sought  in  a  gentle  expression  on  his  dark  visage. 

The  stranger,  whom  Mark  Heathcote  addressed  as  Sub- 
mission, had  meanwhile  done  good  service  in  the  defense  of  the 
stockade;  but  the  savages  were  many,  and  one  succeeded  in 
entering  and  in  finding  his  way  to  the  room  where  the  children 
were.  The  little  ones  were  saved  by  Miantonimoh;  and 
amid  the  blaze  of  the  burning  buildings  the  whites  took  refuge 
in  the  blockhouse.  Among  the  last  to  enter  was  Ruth,  holding 
in  her  arms  her  infant,  little  Ruth;  but  when  she  reached  the 
place  of  safety,  she  was  horror-stricken  to  discover  that  she  had 
saved  little  Martha,  the  orphan  child  of  her  friend.  Her  own 
babe  had  been  left  to  the  mercy  of  the  savages. 

The  valley  now  rang  with  the  victorious  shouts  of  the  red 
men  as  the  fire  spread  from  building  to  building  until  the  whole 
settlement  was  in  a  blaze.  Last  of  all  the  blockhouse,  though 
courageously  defended,  was  fired  and  burned,  and  the  morning 
sun,  which  rose  in  a  cloudless  sky  after  the  savages  had  de- 
parted for  other  scenes  of  blood,  looked  down  on  a  mass  of 
charred  and  smoking  ruins,  from  which  rose  eight  or  ten 
massive  chimney-stacks.  In  the  center  was  the  heavy  stone 
basement  of  the  blockhouse,  with  the  naked  shaft  of  the  well 
rising  within  it  like  a  dark  monument  of  the  past.  Portions 
of  the  palisadoes  had  escaped  the  flames,  and  in  the  fields 
around  a  few  domestic  animals  grazed. 

The  sun  had  reached  the  meridian  and  the  hostile  bands 
had  been  gone  some  hours  before  anything  was  seen  among  the 
ruins  to  indicate  human  life.  Then  a  sound  as  if  billets  of 
wood  were  cautiously  displaced,  and  a  head,  begrimed  and 


202  THE   WEPT   OF  WISH-TON-WISH 

blood-slaincd,  was  raised  with  marked  suspicion  above  the 
shaft  of  the  well. 

"What  sccst  thou?"  demanded  a  deep  voice  from  below. 

"A  sight  to  make  a  wolf  weep!"  replied  Eben  Dudley, 
rising  until  he  stood  on  top  of  the  shaft  so  as  to  command  a 
wide  view  of  the  valley.  "Come  forth!  Belial  hath  done  his 
worst,  and  we  have  a  breathing-time." 

Eben  descended  from  his  perch  to  make  room  for  the  others 
to  follow:  first  Submission,  then  Content  and  his  father,  Reuben 
Ring,  and  all  the  youths  excepting  those  who  had  fallen. 
]\Ieans  were  soon  found,  by  chains  and  buckets,  of  raising  up 
Ruth,  the  children,  and  the  handmaidens,  all  of  whom  had 
found  a  refuge  in  the  underground  apartment  to  which  the 
well  gave  access,  and  which  had  been  prepared  for  an  emer- 
gency such  as  had  befallen  them. 

The  few  hours  before  night  were  occupied  in  preparing 
food  and  shelter.  Reuben  Ring  and  another  were  despatched 
to  all  the  settlements  within  fifty  miles  to  ask  for  aid,  not  to 
pursue  the  savages,  but  to  help  raise  again  their  ruined  habita- 
tions. The  man  whom  we  have  called  Submission  said,  when 
the  young  men  departed  to  call  in  strangers: 

"Thou  knowest  that  I  may  not  tarry,  Mark  Heathcote.  I 
found  thee  in  peace,  and  I  quit  thee  in  the  depths  of  suffering." 

"No,  indeed,  thou  mayst  not  tarry,  for  the  bloodhounds  of 
tyranny  will  be  on  their  scent.     Here  is  shelter  no  longer." 

Submission  pressed  the  hand  of  his  friend  in  his  and  said: 
"Mark  Heathcote,  adieu!  He  that  had  a  roof  for  the  perse- 
cuted wanderer  shall  not  long  be  houseless;  neither  shall  the 
resigned  forever  know  sorrow." 

The  last  seen  of  him  was  at  the  entrance  to  one  of  the 
retired  paths  of  the  forest. 

Years  later  a  hamlet  of  some  forty  houses  had  grown  up  on 
the  site  of  the  Heathcote  settlement.  Conspicuous  among  the 
buildings  was  a  church  and  a  fortified  house  for  a  refuge  in 
case  of  attack,  its  palisades  defended  by  flanking  towers.  Most 
of  the  houses,  and  among  them  that  of  the  Heathcotes,  were 
outside  its  protecting  walls.  In  King  Philip's  War  this  hamlet 
was  again  attacked  by  Indians  under  Metacom  or  Phihp  and 
Conanchet,  the  latter  the  young  chief  of  the  Narragansetts. 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  203 

In  the  onslaught  the  house  of  the  Heathcotes  was  captured 
and  its  inmates  made  prisoners.  On  the  piazza  of  the  dwelling 
were  gathered  IMark  Heathcote,  his  son  Content  and  grandson 
Mark,  and  Ruth  and  Martha.  With  them  was  Submission, 
all  the  men,  excepting  the  elder  Mark,  now  aged,  being  bound. 
The  principal  chiefs  of  the  inroad  were  beside  the  prisoners, 
and  other  chiefs  were  in  consultation  in  front  of  the  house. 
While  it  was  still  a  question  of  life  and  death,  Narra-mattah, 
the  wife  of  Conanchet,  came  forward;  and  in  her  Ruth  recog- 
nized her  own  daughter  Ruth  whom  she  had  lost  in  the  previous 
attack  on  the  settlement. 

"Woman  of  the  Yengeese!"  said  Conanchet,  whom  all 
now  recognized  as  the  Indian  lad  who  had  lived  with  them  so 
long,  ''let  the  clouds  blow  from  thy  sight.  Wife  of  a  Narra- 
gansett!  see  clearly!  The  Manitou  of  your  race  speaks 
strong.     He  telleth  a  mother  to  know  her  child ! " 

Ruth  could  hesitate  no  longer.  Neither  sound  nor  ex- 
clamation escaped  her,  but  as  she  strained  the  yielding  frame 
of  her  recovered  daughter  to  her  heart  it  appeared  as  if  she 
strove  to  incorporate  the  two  bodies  into  one.  The  spirit  of 
even  the  lofty  Conanchet  was  shaken,  and  he  turned  away  that 
none  might  see  his  emotion. 

Conanchet' s  resolve  to  spare  the  prisoners  was  not  heard 
without  murmuring,  but  few  dared  gainsay  him;  and  in  an 
hour  after  Ruth  had  clasped  her  child  to  her  bosom  the  in- 
vaders disappeared. 

A  week  later  Conanchet  and  Submission  were  in  the  depths 
of  the  forest,  where  they  met  Philip  and  his  party.  The 
haughty  Wampanoag  would  have  tomahawked  Submission  at 
once  but  for  Conanchet,  who  had  conceived  a  high  regard  for 
one  who  had  been  so  many  months  a  resident  with  himself  in 
the  blockhouse,  and  later  had  shared  his  wigwam  in  the  forest. 
While  they  were  discussing,  a  muskct-shot  killed  one  of  Philip's 
men,  and  the  rest  took  to  flight. 

"Flee  for  thy  life,  Narragansett,  and  leave  me  to  reap  the 
harvest  of  my  deeds." 

Conanchet  quietly  drew  his  blanket  over  his  shoulder,  and 
said:  "If  my  brother  stays  to  be  killed,  Conanchet  will  be 
found  near  him." 


204  THE   WEPT   OF   WTSH-TON-WISH 

"Manv  a  Christian  man  might  take  lessons  from  thy  faith. 
Lead  on;   I  will  follow  at  the  utmost  of  my  speed."  , 

The  result  was  that  Conanchet,  pursued  by  a  force  of 
Pequots  and  Mohegans,  his  old  enemies,  under  their  sachem 
Uncas,  was  captured,  and  taken  back  to  the  scene  of  Philip's 
camp,  where  he  was  put  to  death.  The  commissioners  of  the 
colony,  who  consented  to  the  execution,  decreed  only  that 
the  capti\es  should  not  suffer  torture.  Among  those  present 
from  Wish-Ton-Wish  were  Ensign  Eben  Dudley  and  Sergeant 
Reuben  Ring,  with  the  Rev.  Meek  Wolfe,  the  minister  of  the 
settlement. 

Meanwhile  Narra-mattah  or  Ruth  and  her  infant,  and 
Whittal  Ring,  were  missed  from  the  settlement;  and  Content 
and  his  wife  went  into  the  forest  in  search  of  them.  They  met 
with  Submission,  and  were  led  by  him  to  the  former  camp  of 
Philip,  where  they  found  the  fugitives  beside  the  corpse  of 
Conanchet.  Narra-mattah  recognized  her  mother  and  died 
in  her  arms,  with  her  eyes  fixed  in  love  and  hope  on  the  defiant 
face  of  the  chieftain.  Ruth,  the  stricken  mother,  died  in  the 
autumn  of  the  same  year,  1675,  with,  as  her  tombstone  records, 
"a  spirit  broken  for  the  purposes  of  earth,  by  much  family 
affliction,  though  with  hopes  justified  by  the  covenant  and  her 
faith  in  the  Lord." 

The  tombstone  of  the  stranger,  whose  mysterious  coming 
and  going  had  aroused  so  much  speculation  at  Wish-Ton-Wish, 
bears  only  the  name  Submission  and  a  half-obliterated  date — 
either  1680  or  i6go.  His  name,  parentage,  and  history  are 
still  in  doubt,  though  it  is  strongly  suspected  that  he  was  one  of 
those  who  sat  in  judgment  on  the  King  in  1649,  and,  like  others 
of  his  brethren,  was  sought  for  by  the  agents  of  the  second 
Charles,  even  in  the  forests  of  the  New  World. 


THE   Wx^TER  WITCH   (1830) 

This  romance  was  written  mostly  in  Rome,  was  first  published  in  Dresden, 
and  the  same  year  was  republished  in  New  York.  It  is  the  most  romantic  of 
the  author's  sea -tales.  The  scene  of  the  story  is  entirely  in  the  neighborhood 
of  New  York;  and  the  chief  character  of  the  drama  is  no  human  being,  but  a 
charming  and  resistless  brigantine  named  the  Water  Witch,  whose  owner  and 
commander  is  known  as  the  "Skimmer  of  the  Seas." 


T  was  about  thirty  years  after  the  capture  of  New 
Amsterdam  by  the  Enghsh  and  the  change  of  its 
name  to  New  York,  that  Alderman  Beverout, 
a  wealthy  burgher  of  that  city,  Dutch  by  descent, 
but  very  loyal  to  his  new  masters,  set  out  one 
pleasant  morning  for  a  trip  across  the  bay  to  a 
snug  retreat  he  owned  by  the  Shrewsbury  River. 
The  name  of  this  retired  spot  was  "Lust  en  Rust." 
The  burgher  was  accompanied  by  his  fair  niece, 
Alinda  de  Barbcrie,  an  orphan,  whose  father  was  a  French 
Huguenot.  They  were  accompanied  by  a  faithful  old  French 
family  servitor  named  Franfois.  But  though  carefully  watched 
she  availed  herself  of  the  not  uncommon  privilege  or  practise  of 
her  sex  of  finding  friends  and  bestowing  admiration  in  quarters 
unsuspected  by  her  tutors  and  guardians.  Another  of  the 
party  was  Olaf  van  Staats,  a  large,  rather  slow,  heavily  built 
young  aristocrat,  sole  heir  to  one  hundred  thousand  acres,  the 
third  largest  estate  in  the  province,  whence  his  title  of  Patroon 
of  Kinderhook,  This  youth  had  been  selected  by  Van  Beverout 
for  his  niece,  la  belle  Barberie.  But  the  courtship,  if  it  may  be 
so  called,  had  thus  far  not  proceeded  beyond  a  certain  sluggish, 
qualified  assent  on  the  part  of  the  swain,  and  neither  assent  nor 
dissent  on  the  part  of  the  lady. 

Several  countryfolk  and  some  articles  of  freight  seemed  to 
complete  the  cargo  of  the  pcriagua,  when  at  the  last  moment 
another  passenger  leaped  aboard,  who,  evidently  a  seaman, 

205 


2o6  THE   WATER  WITCH 

sho\ctl  the  skipper  aside,  took  the  helm  and  assumed  charge 
of  the  boat  without  ceremony.  Every  eye  was  at  once  focused  on 
this  presuming  stranger;  he  was  of  large  frame — audacity  and 
self-confidence  in  his  eye — and  his  apparel  was  to  the  last  degree 
jauntv  and  picturesque.  Nor  was  he  bashful  in  his  conversa- 
tion, although  a  total  stranger  to  all  on  board. 

The  periagua  headed  for  Staten  Island.  But  as  the  boat 
was  to  pass  near  an  English  sloop  of  war,  or  corvette,  named  the 
Coquette  and  stationed  at  that  port  to  look  out  for  smugglers 
and  freebooters,  the  stranger  turned  the  periagua  close  to  the 
man-of-war,  and  at  once  opened  parley  with  Captain  Ludlow, 
the  young  commander,  who  was  pacing  the  quarter-deck  of  his 
trim  vessel.  But  such  was  the  audacity,  not  to  say  insolence, 
of  the  picturesque  stranger  in  his  conversation  with  the  Captain  of 
a  British  ship  of  war,  that  the  latter  at  once  took  fire,  and  on 
general  principles,  without  any  certain  knowledge  as  to  the 
stranger,  at  once  ordered  two  boats  to  follow  and  seize  him. 

But  the  stranger,  taking  advantage  of  the  rising  breeze,  and 
by  a  display  of  seamanship  that  declared  him  to  be,  beyond 
doubt,  a  consummate  sailor,  eluded  the  pursuing  boats,  and 
bringing  up  close  to  the  rocks,  leaped  on  shore,  and  was  soon 
lost  ill  the  dense  thickets  and  winding  footpaths  that  are  to  this 
day  a  feature  of  Staten  Island  scenery.  The  periagua  then 
landed  a  number  of  her  passengers;  Burgher  van  Beverout  and 
his  party  soon  after  continued  their  trip  across  what  is  known 
as  the  Lower  Bay;  on  landing,  they  were  met  by  several  of  the 
negro  slaves  of  "  Lust  en  Rust,"  and  escorted  by  them  to  the  rural 
mansion,  which  stood  in  a  clearing  of  the  forest  on  a  steep  hill 
overlooking  a  vast  land-  or  sea-scape  extending  from  Raritan 
Bay  to  Sandy  Hook,  a  barrier  that  partly  shut  out  the  vast 
expanse  of  ocean  beyond. 

The  main  building  was  occupied  by  Van  Beverout  and  his 
guests.  The  quarters  of  the  slaves  were  grouped  by  themselves, 
while  Alinda  Barberie,  preferring  a  poetic  retirement  in  the  pres- 
ence of  nature,  had  a  charming  little  cottage  somewhat  ad- 
vanced from  the  other  buildings,  where  at  will  she  could  enjoy 
her  gentle  musings  undisturbed.  Although  that  region,  like 
most  of  the  country,  was  still  very  thinly  inhabited,  the  people 
were  generally  of  so  quiet  and  peaceable  a  nature  that  little  was 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  207 

feared  from  marauders.  But  visitors  occasionally  appeared 
unannounced,  as  proved  on  this  occasion  to  be  the  case.  For 
this  reason  the  old  Francois  slept  close  at  hand,  ready  to  be  sum- 
moned at  any  moment.  As  the  name  implies,  "Lust  en  Rust "  was 
given  out  by  the  burgher  as  a  resort  for  quiet  rest  from  the  cares 
of  business.  It  was  well  known  that  he  was  one  of  the  busiest 
and  most  thrifty  citizens  of  New  York,  interested  at  once  in 
commercial  and  civil  affairs.  There  was  nothing  unreasonable, 
then,  in  so  opulent  and  highly  reputable  a  citizen  sometimes 
seeking  absolute  repose  in  this  charming  retreat,  where  he  might 
breathe  the  invigorating  air  of  the  sea. 

Night  had  set  in;  and  Alinda,  standing  by  the  open  window, 
looked  out  at  the  stars  in  the  clear  sky  and  the  dark,  mysterious 
form  of  the  English  cruiser,  the  Coquette,  which  during  the  day 
had  dropped  down  the  bay  and  anchored  near  Sandy  Hook. 
She  could  hear  the  distant  roll  of  the  surf  and  the  rustle  of  the 
leaves  in  the  slight  gusts  that  broke  the  solemn  stillness.  Then 
she  perceived  in  the  darkness  the  vague  form  of  the  spars  of  a 
distant  vessel  moving  silently  outside  of  the  breakers,  turning 
into  the  inlet  between  Sandy  Hook  and  the  mainland,  and  drop- 
ping anchor  in  the  Shrewsbury  River,  which  was  available  to  ves- 
sels of  moderate  size  and  draft.  She  had  come  in  under  bare 
poles  by  the  use  of  sweeps,  and  was  screened  by  the  trees  from  the 
observation  of  the  Coquette,  although  the  latter  ship  had  come  to 
this  neighborhood  precisely  to  find  this  newcomer,  on  the  sup- 
position that  she  was  the  notorious  Water  Witch  reported  to  be 
again  on  that  coast.  There  was  something  very  mysterious 
to  Alinda  in  this  silent  approach  of  a  ship  in  the  gloom  of 
night  without  any  apparent  means  of  propulsion. 

And  yet  she  was  not  alarmed,  but  continued  to  watch  as  if 
she  were  waiting  for  some  one  to  arrive.  And  some  one  did 
appear  under  her  window  soon  after  this  incident.  It  proved 
to  be  young  Seadrift,  addressed  as  captain  notwithstanding  his 
slight  build  and  youthful  appearance.  He  was  accompanied 
by  men  who  brought  a  bale  of  goods  which  was  taken  into  her 
front  apartment.  When  the  bale  was  opened  it  revealed  a  store 
of  very  valuable  stuffs  such  as  ladies  prize  and  the  wealthy 
buy;  such,  too,  as  bring  heavy  customs  duties,  and  hence  en- 
courage smuggling,  and  result  in  fierce  adventures  and  the 


2o8  THE  WATER  WITCH 

shedding  of  blood.  The  lady  Alinda  knew  little  of  all  these 
incidents  attendant  on  smuggling.  Still  ignorant  of  much  that 
goes  on  in  this  world,  she  saw  in  the  smuggled  goods  only 
valuable  articles  that  she  must  have  and  that  were  paid  for  by 
her  uncle,  no  questions  being  asked. 

On  this  occasion  several  other  visitors  happened  on  the  scene 
without  the  slightest  concert  of  action,  and  yet  all  deeply  in- 
terested in  what  they  saw  and  heard.  First  Captain  Ludlow  of 
the  British  cruiser  appeared  under  the  window.  As  he  had  a  long 
previous  acquaintance  with  la  belle  Barberie,  being  indeed  an 
evident  suitor  for  her  hand,  and  might  form  unfavorable  opin- 
ions in  regard  to  her,  she  at  once  summoned  Francois,  with  the 
quick  presence  of  mind  of  her  sex,  and  ordered  him  to  bring 
refreshments.  Soon  after  the  sailor  of  the  sash,  as  they  spoke 
of  him,  who  had  so  daringly  addressed  Captain  Ludlow  and 
aroused  his  resentment,  looked  in  for  a  moment,  and  passed 
on  without  molestation,  having  exchanged  some  amicable 
words  with  Ludlow  at  a  later  interview.  Then  Van  Beverout 
and  Van  Staats  the  Patroon  dropped  in;  and  the  former  took 
evident  interest  in  the  goods  displayed.  The  latter  and  Cap- 
tain Ludlow,  both  suitors,  showed  no  hilarity,  perhaps  for  that 
reason. 

The  next  morning,  to  the  amazement  of  everyone,  Alinda 
de  Barberie  was  nowhere  to  be  found;  and  the  Water  Witch, 
as  she  was  supposed  to  be,  had  put  to  sea.  The  whole  affair 
was  a  profound  mystery.  The  lovers  mentally  accused  each 
other;  and  all  had  their  surmises  as  to  the  cause  of  this  elope- 
ment or  disappearance.  Inviting  Burgher  Van  Beverout  and 
the  Patroon  to  accompany  him.  Captain  Ludlow  passed  the 
Hook  in  search  of  the  supposed  smuggler.  Each  lover  feared 
the  worst,  but  Ludlow  showed  most  willingness  to  give  the 
lady  the  full  benefit  of  the  doubt,  while  Van  Staats  gave  out 
plain  hints  that  excited  the  wrath  of  her  uncle,  who  really 
showed  more  anxiety  on  her  account  than  for  the  pecuniary 
losses  he  might  have  incurred. 

The  cruiser  had  not  proceeded  far  out  to  sea  before  the 
brigantine  Water  Witch  was  discovered  jogging  along  under 
easy  sail,  as  if  he^  skipper  sought  rather  than  avoided  a  trial  of 
speed  and  perhaps  of  guns.     Then  she  made  sail  and  a  long 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  209 

and  about  equal  chase  ensued.  Squalls  and  calms  and  steady 
breezes  tested  the  speed  of  the  ships  and  the  skill  of  their  cap- 
tains. Finally  the  Water  Witch  succeeded  in  getting  out  of 
sight  and  the  Coquette  gave  up  and  headed  for  New  York,  while 
the  Water  Witch  again  glided  stealthily  to  her  old  berth  in  the 
Shrewsbury  cove. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Ludlow  learned  of  her 
whereabouts  and  hastened  to  renew  his  efforts  to  capture  this 
will-o'-the-wisp  of  a  ship.  His  credit  in  the  service  demanded  it, 
and  his  ease  of  heart,  as  a  lover.  This  time  he  anchored  his 
powerful  cruiser  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  and  placed  his  boats 
with  large  crews  of  boarders  at  such  points  as  to  thwart  the 
smuggler  in  any  attempts  to  elude  him  by  the  usual  channels. 
These  dispositions  were  made  at  night  and  were  expected  to  be 
crowned  with  success.  But  the  night  proved  to  be  dark. 
The  waters  of  New  York  bay  were  not  lighted  as  they  are  now. 
The  Skimmer  of  the  Seas  slipped  out  of  the  net  by  his  superior 
knowledge  of  those  waters,  proceeding  to  the  westward  and 
eastward  under  the  southern  shore  of  Staten  Island  and  so 
through  the  Narrows. 

But  before  accomplishing  the  East  River  passage  to  proceed 
to  sea  by  Long  Island  Sound,  the  smuggler  was  nearly  over- 
taken by  the  cruiser,  rushing  before  a  fresh  breeze  as  if  deter- 
mined to  settle  the  question  this  time  for  good  and  all.  Lud- 
low pursued  the  chase  with  a  certain  degree  of  reluctance,  how- 
ever, for  he  admired  the  great,  magnificent  sailor  and  his  lovely 
little  ship,  and  also  feared  that  inevitable  harm  would  befall  the 
fair  girl  he  loved,  if  she  were  indeed  on  board  the  brigantine. 
But  his  duty  and  his  destiny  demanded  that  he  should  end  the 
1'  ng  pursuit,  now  that  this  crowning  chance  was  given  him,  and 
hope  for  the  best  for  all  concerned. 

The  stalwart  Skimmer  of  the  Seas  had  no  pilot;  the  passage 
either  by  Hell-gate  or  the  other  side  of  Blackwell's  Island  was  in 
those  days  sufficiently  appalling.  The  cruiser  gained  on  him 
perceptibly.  He  was  evidently  in  a  desperate  case;  the  Water 
Witch  had  one  advantage,  however,  in  her  simpler  rig  as  a  brig- 
antine, which  enabled  her  to  turn  more  ([uickly  in  case  of  need. 
In  the  last  extremity  the  consummate  seaman  who  managed 
the  Water  Witch  took  an  all  but  hopeless  turn  which  threatened 

A,  D.,  VOL.  v.  — 14 


2IO  THE   WATER  WITCH 

instant  destruction.  By  his  coolness  and  quickness  of  per- 
ception he  barely  escaped  the  peril;  and  by  this  means  he  ac- 
tually got  so  far  in  advance  of  the  pursuing  cruiser  as  to  place 
himself  out  of  danger,  and  was  able  to  keep  on,  following  the 
directions  of  a  coaster  he  met;  he  was  almost  out  of  sight  of  the 
pursuing  ship,  when  a  new  and  very  important  actor  appeared 
on  the  scene.  This  was  a  French  corvette  fully  equal  to  the 
Coqitetie. 

This  unexpected  incident  completely  changed  the  situation. 
The  Water  Witch,  become  at  once  a  secondary  factor,  was  per- 
mitted to  go  where  she  pleased,  while  her  pursuer  turned  his 
whole  attention  to  the  French  ship  now  fast  approaching. 
The  two  vessels,  quite  evenly  matched  as  to  size,  were  soon 
engaged  in  a  deadly  conflict.  It  is  unnecessary  to  enter  into  a 
detailed  description  of  the  furious  fighting  that  ensued.  The 
French,  attempting  to  carry  the  Coquette  by  boarding,  were  re- 
pulsed with  the  loss  of  their  gallant  captain. 

But  just  as  the  English  were  on  the  point  of  attempting  a 
similar  charge,  all  eyes  were  called  to  the  near  approach  of  a 
large  French  frigate  bearing  down  to  the  rescue  of  her  consort. 
For  Ludlow  to  think  of  continuing  the  battle  against  such  odds 
was  impossible.  He  drew  off  his  ship  and  anchored  in  water 
too  shoal  for  the  draft  of  the  frigate,  and  the  corvette  was  too 
crippled  to  follow.  The  night  was  serene;  and  Ludlow  was 
reflecting  on  his  quarter-deck  on  the  events  of  the  day  and 
the  possibilities  of  the  morrow,  when  he  was  startled  by  seeing 
the  Skimmer  of  the  Seas  standing  at  his  elbow.  He  was 
startled  and  angered  likewise  at  the  boldness  of  the  smuggler 
and  the  careless  watch  of  his  men  who  had  allowed  a  boat  to 
come  alongside  unseen  and  unchallenged.  The  former  ap- 
peased Ludlow  by  alleging  the  fatigue  of  the  crew  and  stating 
that  he  had  come  in  a  light  skiff  and  climbed  by  a  line  over  the 
taffrail. 

The  Skimmer  of  the  Seas  now  earnestly  warned  Ludlow 
to  be  on  his  guard  and  rouse  his  crew,  to  prepare  them  to  save 
the  ship  from  being  taken  by  an  overwhelming  number  of 
boarders  who  were  preparing  to  carry  the  royal  cruiser  about 
midnight.  Ludlow  was  rather  inclined  to  doubt  the  report,  but 
was  assured  that  the  smuggler  had  just  come  from  reconnoiter- 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  211 

ing,  and  was  certain  that  the  attack  was  undoubtedly  beyond 
question.  Ludlow  thanked  him  cordially  and  proceeded  at 
once  to  put  his  ship  and  crew  in  an  immediate  state  of  defense. 
As  he  had  been  told,  so  everything  came  to  pass. 

The  charge  was  bravely  met,  but  the  enemy  were  too  numer- 
ous to  be  successfully  resisted.  Ludlow  and  his  men  were  beaten 
back  to  the  waist  and  thence  to  the  quarter-deck.  At  that 
desperate  moment,  the  powerful  form  of  the  Skimmer  of  the 
Seas  appeared  over  the  side,  leading  his  crew  to  the  rescue. 

This  turned  the  scale.  The  enemy  were  driven  over- 
board, and  a  deep  sense  of  triumph  seemed  to  pervade  the 
hearts  of  the  victors  when  the  hand  grenades  thrown  by  the 
enemy  exploded  and  set  the  cruiser  on  fire.  The  flames 
seized  the  spars  and  approached  the  powder  magazine.  The 
boats  were  launched  and  filled  with  people.  But  in  the  panic 
they  made  off,  leaving  a  good  number  to  save  themselves  as  they 
could  on  a  rude  raft  composed  of  floating  spars.  The  ship 
blew  up  with  an  awful  explosion,  killing  some  who  were  at  one 
end  of  the  raft.  On  the  following  morning,  when  daylight 
appeared,  the  Water  Witch  stole  out  of  the  cove  where  she  had 
lain  hidden  and  rescued  the  few  survivors  on  the  raft. 

Ludlow  now  told  the  Skimmer  of  the  Seas  that  his  conduct 
in  repehing  the  French  boarders  was  an  act  that  aroused  the 
deepest  gratitude;  and  that,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the 
Water  Witch  should  never  suffer  more  from  the  pursuit  of  the 
naval  vessels  of  his  government.  The  Skimmer  of  the  Seas 
replied  that  it  was  not  in  his  nature  at  such  a  time  to  stand 
idly  by  when  the  enemy  were  attacking  his  countrymen.  In 
such  a  crisis  all  personal  grievances  must  yield  to  the  instinct 
of  patriotism. 

Good  will  being  established,  the  gallant  smuggler  sailed 
away  with  his  companions  to  seek  his  profits  in  other  seas  with 
his  lovely  ship  the  Water  Witch,  while  Ludlow  led  to  the  altar 
the  charming  Alinda  Barberie. 


THE   BRAVO    (183 1) 

The  scene  of  this  story  is  Venice  in  the  days  of  the  doges.  The  object 
of  the  tale,  said  William  Cullen  Bryant,  is  "to  show  how  institutions,  pro- 
fessedly created  to  prevent  violence  and  wrong,  become,  when  perverted  from 
their  natural  destination,  the  instruments  of  injustice,  and  how,  in  every  sys- 
tem wliich  makes  power  the  exclusive  property  of  the  strong,  the  weak  are  sure 
to  be  opj)rcssed."  The  picture  is  that  of  the  social  system  of  a  soi-disant  re- 
public, which  was  anything  but  a  republic  in  our  sense  of  the  word.  The 
writer  disavowed  any  attempt  to  portray  historical  characters,  his  object 
being  simply  to  set  forth  the  familiar  operations  of  Venetian  policy.  The  story 
was  di^amatized  in  1833  by  John  Buckstone,  comedian  and  dramatist. 

ON  CAMILLO  MONFORTE,  Duke  of  Sant' 
Agata,  of  Naples,  was  in  Venice  to  press  his 
claims  to  the  rank  of  a  senator  of  that  Republic. 
An  ancestor  of  his  had  been  a  senator  of  Venice 
when  the  death  of  a  relation  brought  many 
Calabrian  seignories  into  his  possession.  The 
younger  of  his  sons,  by  an  especial  decree,  which 
favored  a  family  that  had  well  served  the  state, 
took  these  estates,  while  the  elder  transmitted  the 
senatorial  rank  and  the  Venetian  fortunes  to  his  posterity. 
Time  extinguished  the  elder  branch;  and  Don  Camillo  had  for 
years  besieged  the  council  to  be  restored  to  those  rights  which 
his  predecessor  renounced  when  he  accepted  the  Calabrian 
estates.  But  this  claim  was  contrary  to  the  policy  of  Venice, 
which  was  to  preclude  the  union  of  any  interests  in  opposition 
to  each  other,  and  whose  conjunction  might  endanger  the 
power  of  the  state.  Thus  its  laws  forbade  any  of  senatorial 
rank  to  hold  lands  without  the  hraits  of  the  Repubhc;  and  Don 
Camillo  could  not  be  admitted  to  that  rank  without  renouncing 
his  Calabrian  lordships. 

The  laws  of  Venice  bore  hard  on  Don  Camillo  in  another 
respect.  They  prescribed  that  none  of  its  nobles  should  con- 
nect themselves  by  the  ties  of  marriage  with  any  stranger  with- 
out the  consent  and  supervision  of  the  Republic.     A  short  time 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  213 

before  this,  Don  Camillo  had  saved  the  hfe  of  the  Donna  Vio- 
letta  of  the  noble  house  of  Tiepolo,  whose  gondola  had  been 
run  down  by  a  careless  boatman.  This  led  to  mutual  es- 
teem, but,  as  Donna  Violetta  was  an  orphan,  she  was  regarded 
as  the  ward  of  Venice,  and  her  hand,  in  the  gift  of  the  Senate, 
could  not  be  given  to  an  alien. 

That  Donna  Violetta  was  interested  in  the  success  of  the 
Neapolitan  was  shown  in  her  intercession  in  his  behalf  with 
Signore  Gradenigo,  to  whom  the  Senate  had  entrusted  the 
guardianship  of  the  person  of  the  heiress.  Accompanied  by 
her  mentor.  Donna  Florinda,  she  went,  cloaked  and  masked, 
as  was  the  custom  of  the  time,  one  evening  to  the  Palazzo 
Gradenigo,  where  she  was  cordially  greeted  by  its  owner. 
"Thou  canst  never  come  amiss,  child,  as  thou  art  of  my  ancient 
friend,  and  the  especial  care  of  the  state!" 

After  some  desultory  conversation.  Donna  Violetta  said 
to  her  guardian: 

"You  know,  Signore  Gradenigo,  that  though  I  am  gifted 
by  the  accidents  of  fortune  and  birth,  I  have  received  one  boon 
which  I  have  not  been  enabled  to  requite  in  a  manner  to  do 
honor  to  the  house  of  Tiepolo." 

"This  is  serious!  Donna  Florinda,  our  ward  should  not 
receive  boons  of  this  nature  from  any." 

"I  think  she  speaks  of  the  boon  of  hfe,"  said  the  companion, 
smiling. 

Signore  Gradenigo's  countenance  assumed  a  dark  expression. 

"I  understand  you,"  he  said  coldly,  "but  Don  Camillo 
Monforte  is  not  a  common  diver  of  the  Lido,  to  be  rewarded 
like  him  who  finds  a  bauble  dropped  from  a  gondola.  Thou 
hast  thanked  the  cavaher;  I  trust  that  a  noble  maiden  can  do 
no  more  in  a  case  hke  this." 

"Signore  Gradenigo,  that  I  have  thanked  him, and  thanked 
him  from  my  soul,  is  true;  but  I  have  now  come  to  entreat 
favor  in  behalf  of  him  to  whom  I  owe  my  life.  Don  Camillo 
Monforte  has  long  pursued,  without  success,  a  claim  so  just  that, 
were  there  no  other  motive  to  concede  it,  the  character  of 
Venice  should  teach  the  senators  the  danger  of  delay." 

"The  Republic  hath  its  laws,  and  none  who  have  rignt  on 
their  side  appeal  to  it  in  vain." 


214  ^^^   BRAVO 

"They  tamper  with  his  riglils!  Being  bom  in  a  foreign 
realm,  he  is  required  to  renounce  more  in  the  land  of  the 
stranfrer  than  he  will  gain  within  the  limits  of  the  Repubhc! 
He  wastes  life  and  youth  in  pursuing  a  phantom!  You  are 
of  weight  in  the  Senate,  my  guardian,  and  were  you  to  lend 
him  the  support  of  your  powerful  voice,  a  wronged  noble  would 
have  justice,  and  Venice  better  deserve  the  character  of  which 
she  is  so  jealous." 

"Thou  art  a  persuasive  advocate,  and  I  will  think  of  what 
thou  urgest,"  said  he,  changing  the  frown  which  had  been  gather- 
ing on  his  brow  to  a  look  of  indulgence.  "His  service  to  thee, 
and  my  weakness  in  thy  behalf,  extort  that  thou  wouldst  have." 

Donna  Violetta  kissed  her  guardian's  hand  and  was  about 
to  retire,  when  Signore  Gradenigo  said:  "My  son  has  been 
mindful  of  his  duty  and  respect  of  late.  Donna  Violetta,  as  I 
would  have  him?  Thou  wilt  receive  him  with  friendship,  for 
the  love  thou  bearest  his  father  ?  " 

"The  door  of  my  palace  is  never  shut  on  the  Signore  Gia- 
como  on  all  proper  occasions,"  she  said  coldly.  "The  son  of 
my  guardian  could  hardly  be  other  than  an  honored  visitor." 

The  ladies  had  hardly  gone  before  Giacomo  entered.  The 
son's  countenance  and  air  bore  the  signs  of  well-bred  profli- 
gacy. After  the  parent  had  spoken  some  words  of  reproof  in 
a  tone  between  paternal  indulgence  and  reproach,  he  told  him 
of  Donna  Violetta's  visit,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  improved  the 
occasion  of  his  own  guardianship  to  urge  his  suit. 

"Doubt  it  not,  father.  By  refusing  to  supply  my  wants, 
you  have  made  certain  of  my  consent.  There  is  not  a  fool  in 
Venice  who  sighs  more  loudly  beneath  his  mistress's  window 
than  I — when  there  is  opportunity,  and  I  am  in  the  humor." 

"Giacomo,  thou  hast  a  rival  in  the  Neapohtan.  His  act 
in  saving  her  in  the  Gindecca  has  won  upon  the  fancy  of  the 
girl,  and  she  supplies  his  character  with  all  necessairy  qualities 
by  her  own  ingenuity." 

"I  would  she  did  the  same  by  me!" 

"Hast  thou  bethought  thee  of  turning  the  eyes  of  the  coimcil 
on  the  danger  which  besets  their  heiress  ?  " 

"I  have.  The  Neapolitan  stands  accused,  and  if  thy  council 
is  faithful,  he  will  be  a  suspected  if  not  a  banished  man." 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  215 

As  Giacomo  passed  within,  an  aged  man  was  admitted,  his 
face  tawny  by  exposure,  his  hair  thin  and  white. 

*'Ha!  Antonio!"  exclaimed  the  senator.     "Why  this  visit?" 

"Signore,  my  heart  is  heavy." 

"The  sirocco  hath  emptied  thy  nets?  Hold!  thou  art 
my  foster-brother,  and  thou  must  not  want." 

The  fisherman  drew  back  with  dignity  as  a  purse  w^as  offered 
him. 

"Signore,  we  have  lived  from  childhood  to  old  age  since  we 
drew  our  milk  from  the  same  breast;  in  all  that  time  have  you 
ever  known  me  a  beggar?" 

"Age  conquers  our  pride  with  our  strength,  Antonio.  If 
it  be  not  sequins  thou  seekest,  what  wouldst  thou  ?  " 

Old  Antonio  thereupon  disclosed  his  errand,  which  was  to 
beg  the  senator  to  use  his  influence  to  secure  the  release  of  his 
grandson,  a  lad  in  his  fourteenth  year  and  an  orphan,  condemned 
by  the  state  to  serve  in  the  galleys  against  the  iniidcls.  Signore 
Gradenigo  listened  to  his  pathetic  tale  with  a  cold,  unanswering 
countenance,  void  of  human  sympathy.  For  on  any  subject 
that  touched  an  interest  so  vital  as  the  maritime  power  of  the 
Republic  the  senator  was  adamant. 

"Thy  grandson  fareth  no  worse  than  others;  and  thou 
knowest  that  the  Repubhc  hath  need  of  every  arm." 

"Eccellenza,  I  saw  the  Signore  Giacomo  as  I  entered  the 
palace." 

"Out  upon  thee,  fellow!  dost  thou  make  no  distinction 
between  the  son  of  a  fisherman  and  the  heir  of  an  ancient  house  ? 
Go  to;  remember  thy  condition,  and  the  difference  that  God  hath 
made  between  our  children." 

"Mine  never  gave  me  sorrow  but  for  the  hour  i.i  which  they 
died,"  said  the  fisherman. 

The  Signore  Gradenigo  felt  the  sting  of  this  retort,  which  in 
no  degree  aided  Antonio's  cause.  Nor  did  his  final  remark 
mend  the  matter. 

"Signore,  adieu;  I  would  not  part  in  anger  with  my  foster- 
brother,  and  I  pray  the  saints  to  bless  you  and  your  house. 
May  you  never  know  the  grief  of  losing  a  child  by  a  fate  worse 
than  death — that  of  destruction  by  vice!" 

One  who  sought  a  private  audience  was  next  admitted. 


2i6  THE   BRAVO 

\\hcn  his  cloak  and  visor  were  removed,  Signore  Gradenigo 
recognized  the  face  of  the  most  dreaded  man  in  Venice,  the 
Bra\o  Jacojio  Frontoni. 

"Didst  thou  note  him  that  left  me?"  eagerly  demanded 
Signore  Gradenigo. 

'"Twas  Antonio  a  fisherman,  your  Eccellenza's  foster- 
brother." 

"Hast  thou  had  dealings  with  him?" 

"Never." 

"In  what  manner  hath  he  come  to  thy  knowledge?" 

"I  have  known  him  as  one  esteemed  by  his  fellows,  skilful 
in  his  craft,  and  long  practised  in  the  mystery  of  the  lagoons." 

"He  is  a  defrauder  of  the  revenue,  thou  wouldst  be  under- 
stood to  say  ?  " 

"I  would  not.  He  toils  too  late  and  early  to  have  other 
means  of  support  than  labor." 

"He  hath  a  habit  of  making  his  voice  heard  concerning 
affairs  of  which  none  but  his  superiors  may  discreetly  judge. 
The  paternal  care  of  the  Senate  cannot  see  discontent  planted 
in  the  bosom  of  a  class  it  is  their  duty  and  pleasure  to  render 
happy.  Seek  opportunities  to  let  him  hear  this  wholesome 
truth,  for  I  would  not  willingly  see  a  misfortune  light  on  his 
head  in  the  decline  of  his  days.  Hast  thou  had  applications  of 
late  in  thy  character  of  avenger  of  private  wrongs  ?  " 

"None  of  note;  there  is  one  who  seeks  me  earnestly,  though 
I  am  not  yet  master  of  his  wishes." 

"Thou  wilt  not  withhold  his  name?" 

"It  is  a  noble  Neapolitan  who  hath  long  sojourned  in 
Venice — " 

"  Ha !     Don  Camillo  Monforte !    Am  I  right  ?  " 

"Signore,  the  same." 

As  the  clock  in  the  great  square  struck  eleven,  the  senator 
started  as  if  expecting  some  one,  and  said : 

"  This  is  well;  thy  faith  and  punctuality  shall  be  remembered. 
Look  to  the  fisherman  Antonio.  As  to  this  stranger — quickly, 
thy  mask  and  cloak;  depart  as  if  thou  wert  merely  a  friend 
bent  on  some  idle  pleasantry." 

The  Signore  Gradenigo  paced  up  and  down  the  apartment 
until  the  arrival  of  his  next  visitor,  who  also  was  closely  masked. 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  217 

"I  am  honored  in  the  visit  of  Don  Camillo  Monforte," 
said  the  host,  while  that  person  laid  aside  his  cloak  and  visor. 

The  two  at  once  entered  on  a  conversation  on  the  Spanish 
succession,  in  which  the  interests  of  the  Republic  were  being 
urged  by  Don  Camillo  through  his  influence  with  his  kinsman 
of  Castile.  After  which  Don  Camillo  asked  advice  as  to  the 
manner  of  further  urging  his  own  long-neglected  claims. 

But  Signore  Gradenigo  answered  only  in  glittering  generali- 
ties, advising  him  to  win  the  Senate's  esteem  by  acts  of  service 
to  the  state. 

"Could  I  have  communication  with  those  reverend  fathers," 
said  Don  Camillo,  "the  justice  of  my  claim  would  speedily  work 
out  its  own  right." 

"That  were  impossible ! "  said  the  senator  gravely.  " Those 
august  bodies  are  secret  that  their  majesty  may  not  be  tarnished 
by  communication  with  vulgar  interests." 

"I  expressed  the  desire  rather  as  a  wish  than  with  any 
hope  of  its  being  granted,"  replied  the  Duke  of  St.  Agata, 
resuming  his  cloak  and  mask,  and  making  his  adieux. 

The  Signore  Gradenigo  accompanied  his  guest  through  all 
the  rooms  of  the  long  suite  until  he  committed  him  to  the  care 
of  the  groom  of  his  chambers. 

"The  youth  must  be  stirred  to  greater  industry,  by  clogging 
the  wheels  of  the  law,"  he  meditated,  as  he  slowly  returned  to 
his  closet.  "He  that  would  ask  favors  of  St.  Mark  must  first 
earn  them,  by  showing  zealous  dispositions  in  his  behalf." 

Though  old  Antonio  the  fisherman  had  been  duly  warned 
by  Jacopo,  in  accordance  with  Signore  Gradenigo's  commands, 
he  was  still  determined  to  get  the  ear  of  his  superiors  in  behalf  of 
his  grandson.  To  this  end  he  became  a  competitor  in  the  gon- 
doliers' race,  though  he  was  received  with  coarse  laughter  and 
many  jests  on  his  white  hairs  and  fisherman's  costume.  When 
the  competitors  were  placed,  Gino  of  Calabria,  Don  Camillo's 
gondolier,  was  on  the  right  of  the  line  and  an  unknown,  who  per- 
sisted in  wearing  a  mask,  on  the  left.  "Thou  hast  forgotten 
to  call  the  fisherman,"  cried  the  latter,  as  he  took  his  station. 

"Does  the  hoary  fool  persist  in  exposing  his  vanity  and  his 
rags  to  the  best  of  Venice?'' 

"I  can  take  a  place  in  the  rear,"  meekly  observed  Antonio. 


2iS  THE   BRAVO 

"A  few  strokes  of  the  oar,  more  or  less,  can  differ  but  little  in  so 
long  a  strife." 

Old  Antonio  calmly  took  a  position  in  the  rear,  amid  the 
gibes  of  the  spectators,  and  during  the  race  made  no  apparent 
effort  until  the  line  of  gondoliers  had  broken  into  groups,  when 
he  began  to  pass  one  after  another.  The  crowd  ceased  its  gibes 
as  he  gained  and  watched  in  wondering  silence  while  he  crept 
past  contestant  after  contestant  until  the  race  appeared  to  lie 
between  him,  Gino,  and  the  mask.  Gino  was  in  the  lead,  but 
presently,  in  a  supreme  effort,  the  mask  passed  him,  followed 
closely  by  the  fisherman.  The  beak  of  Antonio's  boat  hung 
on  the  quarter  of  that  of  the  mask,  but  it  could  do  no  more. 
The  masked  waterman  glanced  back  and  said: 

''Thou  hast  deceived  me,  fisherman;  there  is  more  of 
manhood  in  thee  than  I  had  thought." 

"  If  there  is  manhood  in  my  arms,  there  is  sorrow  at  the  heart," 
was  the  reply. 

"Thou  art  second;   be  content  with  thy  lot," 

"It  will  not  do;  I  must  be  foremost,  or  I  have  wearied  my 
old  limbs  in  vain." 

The  masker  heard  this  in  silence.  Twenty  more  strokes 
and  the  goal  would  be  won.  Then  he  said  to  his  opponent, 
now  nearly  abeam: 

"Push  thy  soul  into  the  blade,  or  thou  wilt  yet  be  beaten!" 

The  fisherman  threw  all  the  strength  of  his  body  on  the 
coming  effort,  shot  ahead,  and  the  little  flags  that  marked 
victory  fell  into  the  water  before  his  prow.  The  masker 
came  second  and  Gino  third  in  the  best-contested  race  ever 
seen  in  the  waters  of  Venice.  When  Antonio  was  proclaimed 
the  victor,  there  arose  a  great  commotion  among  the  living 
mass  of  people,  who  shouted  his  name  as  if  celebrating  the  suc- 
cess of  some  conqueror,  and  young  and  old,  the  fair,  the  gay,  the 
noble,  struggled  alike  to  catch  a  ghmpse  of  the  humble  old  man. 
Antonio  smiled  as  he  listened  to  the  shouts,  and  turned  a  hope- 
ful eye  on  the  herald  who  summoned  him,  the  masked  water- 
man, and  Gino  to  the  presence  of  the  Doge  on  the  deck  of  the 
Biicentaur. 

"Approach,  fisherman,"  said  the  Prince;  "thou  art  the  con- 
fiucror,  and  to  thy  hands  must  I  consign  the  prize.     It  is  my 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  219 

duty,  Antonio,  and,  being  a  duty,  it  hath  become  a  pleasure, 
to  place  around  thy  neck  this  golden  chain." 

"Highness!"  observed  Antonio,  "I  am  not  fit  to  bear  about 
me  such  a  sign  of  greatness  and  good  fortune.  The  glitter  of 
the  gold  would  mock  my  poverty." 

"Thou  must  not  think  this,"  said  the  Doge.  "Bend  thy 
knee,  that  I  may  bestow  the  prize." 

"Higliness,  for  my  wants  the  lagoons  are  sufficient;  but 
it  is  in  thy  power  to  make  the  last  days  of  an  old  man  happy,  and 
to  have  thy  name  remembered  in  many  an  honest  and  well- 
meant  prayer.  Grant  me  back  my  child,  and  forget  the  bold- 
ness of  a  heart-broken  father!" 

"Is  not  this  he  who  once  before  urged  us  concerning  one 
who  has  gone  into  the  service  of  the  state  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Doge. 

"The  same,"  returned  the  cold  voice  of  Signore  Gradenigo. 
"Pity  for  thy  ignorance,  fisherman,  represses  our  anger." 

"Sovrano  niio,  I  am  not  vain  enough  to  think  that  my  humble 
name  is  inscribed  among  the  patricians  in  the  Golden  Book, 
but  the  little  I  have  done  for  my  country  is  written  here  in  scars 
on  my  body,  won  in  battle  against  the  Turks.  I  offer  them  as 
so  many  petitions  to  the  bounty  of  the  Senate." 

"Thou  speakest  vaguely.     What  is  thy  will?" 

"Justice,  mighty  Prince.  They  have  taken  the  sole  com- 
panion of  my  labors  and  pleasures,  the  child  to  whom  I  have 
looked  to  close  my  eyes,  and  exposed  him  to  the  temptation  and 
sin  of  the  galleys!" 

"Is  this  all?" 

"Is  this  all?"  repeated  Antonio.  "Doge  of  Venice,  it  is 
more  than  one,  old,  heart-stricken,  and  bereaved,  can  bear!" 

"Go  to;   take  thy  golden  chain  and  depart." 

"Give  me  my  child,  or  give  me  nothing." 

"Away  with  him!"  muttered  a  dozen  voices.  "He  utters 
sedition!" 

Antonio  was  hurried  away  and  thrust  into  his  gondola,  and 
the  winner  of  the  second  prize  was  called.  The  masked  water- 
man approached,  but  held  back  when  ordered  to  kneel. 

"Highness,  pardon!  If  it  be  your  gracious  will  to  grant  a 
boon  for  the  success  of  the  regatta,  I  too  have  to  pray  to  have  it 
given  in  another  form." 


220  THE   BRAVO 

"This  is  unusual!     Name  thy  desire." 

"I  too,  and  on  my  knee,  in  dutiful  homage  to  the  chief  of  the 
state,  beg  that  the  prayer  of  the  old  fisherman  be  heard,  and 
that  the  father  and  son  may  be  restored  to  each  other." 

"This  touches  on  importunity!     Who  art  thou,  that  comest 
thus  to  support  a  petition  once  refused?     I  command  thee, 
unmask!" 

The  waterman  removed  his  visor  and  disclosed  the  pallid 
features  and  glittering  eyes  of  the  Bravo  Jacopo. 

"I  know  thee  not!"  exclaimed  the  Doge. 

The  Signore  Gradenigo  drew  near  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 
The  sovereign  cast  one  look  of  mingled  curiosity  and  aversion 
on  the  countenance  of  the  Bravo,  and  motioned  him  to  depart. 

"We  shall  look  into  this  at  our  leisure,"  he  remarked. 
"Let  the  festivities  proceed." 

While  the  third  prize  was  being  awarded  to  Gino,  a  loud 
shout  drew  the  spectators  to  the  side  of  the  Bucentaur.  A 
hundred  boats,  manned  by  red-capped  fishermen,  were  mov- 
ing in  a  body  toward  the  Lido.  In  their  midst,  borne  in  tri- 
umph, was  seen  the  bare  head  of  Antonio.  Had  the  triumph  of 
the  fishermen  confined  itself  to  this  natural  exhibition,  it  would 
not  have  given  grave  offense,  but  amid  the  shouts  of  approbation 
were  mingled  cries  of  censure.  Denunciations  were  heard  of 
those  who  refused  to  restore  to  Antonio  his  child,  and  it  was  even 
whispered  on  the  Bucentaur  that  the  rioters  dared  to  threaten 
force  to  obtain  what  they  termed  the  justice  of  the  case. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  Signore  Gradenigo  had  been 
informed  by  the  Bravo  that  Don  Camillo  had  sought  his  services 
for  some  unknown  purpose,  and  he  had  also  learned  from 
Giacomo  that  the  latter  had  made  certain  accusations  against 
the  Neapolitan  which  he  averred  would  result  in  his  banishment. 
Some  days  later,  the  Senate,  suspecting  that  these  movements 
might  have  some  reference  to  the  Donna  Violetta,  determined  to 
remove  her  from  the  charge  of  Signore  Gradenigo.  To  this  end, 
officers  of  the  state  were  sent  to  inform  her  that  on  the  morrow 
new  guardians  would  take  her  in  charge  and  hold  her  until  the 
wisdom  of  the  Senate  should  form  for  her  a  suitable  alliance; 
and  that  until  that  time  her  doors  must  be  closed  against  the 
Signore  Gradenigo  and  all  others  of  his  sex.     Father  Anselmo, 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  221 

the  Carmelite  in  charge  of  their  spiritual  welfare,  raised  his 
hands  in  silent  benediction  over  his  two  charges,  Donna  Violetta 
and  Donna  Florinda,  who  had  sunk  into  each  other's  arms  in 
tears,  when  an  officer  appeared  and  said  to  him: 

"Reverend  father,  may  I  crave  a  moment  of  your  time  for 
an  affair  that  concerns  the  soul  of  a  sinner  ?  " 

Though  amazed,  the  monk  could  not  hesitate  about  an- 
swering such  an  appeal.  Obedient  to  a  gesture  of  the  ofiticer 
he  followed  him  down  to  his  gondola,  and  the  dash  of  oars 
announced  his  departure  to  those  within  the  palace. 

When  the  Carmelite  returned,  his  face  was  deathly  pale  and 
so  charged  with  horror  that  Donna  Florinda  asked  if  he  were  ill. 

"Ill  at  heart,  Florinda." 

"Deceive  us  not;  thou  hast  more  evil  tidings.  Thou  nast 
shrived  a  penitent  ?  " 

"One  who  met  an  unmerited  end — one  Antonio,  a  poor 
fisherman,  better  fitted  to  live  than  those  who  pronounced 
his  doom.     In  what  a  fearful  state  is  Venice ! " 

"  Such  are  they  who  are  the  masters  of  thy  person,  Violetta," 
said  Don  Camillo  Monforte,  who  had  come  in  meanwhile. 
"To  these  midnight  murderers  will  thy  happiness  be  consigned ! " 

"Thou  art  right,"  said  the  monk,  "such  are  the  men  who 
mean  to  dispose  of  the  person  of  our  pupil.  Holy  St.  Mark 
pardon  the  prostitution  of  his  revered  name,  and  shield  this 
poor  child  with  the  virtue  of  his  prayers!" 

A  long  conversation  ended  in  a  proposition  from  Don  Camillo 
for  an  immediate  marriage  between  Donna  Violetta  and  himself, 
and  that  all  should  then  fly  with  him  from  Venice. 

"There  is  now  lying  in  port  a  Sorrentine  felucca,  whose  pa- 
drone, one  Stefano  Milano,  is  a  vassal  bom  of  mine.  He  is  here 
on  the  canals  on  some  errand  of  the  Republic,  and  is  ready  from 
hour  to  hour  to  put  to  sea;  but  I  doubt  not  that  he  would 
rather  serve  his  natural  lord  than  these  double-dealing  mis- 
creants of  the  Senate."  "I  fear  the  result,"  observed  the  hesi- 
tating monk.  " If  known  and  arrested,  we  are  all  lost.  Hark! 
a  gondola  at  the  water-gate!" 

Don  Camillo  had  hardly  concealed  himself  in  the  oratory 
when  the  same  messenger  of  the  Senate  who  had  visited  the 
palace  once  before  that  evening  came  in. 


222  THE   BRAVO 

"Noble  lady,"  he  said,  bowing  with  deference  to  Donna 
Violetta,  "  I  am  sent  to  request  you  will  make  such  preparations 
as  may  befit  your  convenience  during  a  few  months'  residence  in 
a  purer  atmosi)here,  and  that  this  may  be  done  speedily,  as 
your  journey  will  commence  before  the  rising  of  the  sun." 

"This  is  short  notice  for  one  about  to  quit  the  dwelling  of 
her  ancestors!  For  myself,  little  preparation  is  needed,  but  the 
servitors  that  befit  my  condition  will  require  more  time." 

"Lady,  that  embarrassment  hath  been  foreseen;  the  coun- 
cil will  supply  you  with  the  only  attendant  you  will  require." 

"How,  Signore!    am  I  to  be  separated  from  my  people?" 

The  officer  answered  by  calling  in  Annina,  the  daughter 
of  a  wine-seller,  known  to  be  a  spy  of  the  government,  and 
announcing  that  she  only  would  be  allowed  to  attend  Donna 
Violetta. 

A  profound  and  sorrowful  silence  succeeded.  Then  Annina 
was  sent  to  make  arrangements  for  departure.  As  soon  as  she 
was  gone,  Don  Camillo  again  appealed  to  the  Carmelite,  and  he 
agreed  to  accede  to  his  wishes.  Don  Camillo  wrote  instruc- 
tions to  Gino,  wrapped  the  paper  around  a  coin  and  dropped  it 
from  the  balcony  into  his  gondola  beneath.  An  hour  later, 
after  the  performance  of  the  marriage  ceremony  by  the  Car- 
melite in  the  little  oratory,  the  party  made  ready  for  leaving 
the  palace.  They  hastened  down  at  the  sound  of  oars  below 
and  found  a  six-oared  gondola  awaiting  them.  All  had  entered 
excepting  Don  Camillo,  when  Annina  attempted  to  follow  her 
new  mistress. 

"Thy  service  ends  here,"  whispered  Don  Camillo,  as  he 
barred  her  progress.  "Seek  another  mistress;  in  fault  of  a 
better,  devote  thyself  to  Venice." 

The  next  instant  he  himself  was  seized  rudely  from  behind, 
Annina  sprang  past  him  into  the  gondola,  the  oars  fell,  and  in 
speechless  agony  he  saw  the  boat  glide  away  up  the  canal. 

His  first  thought  was  that  Gino  had  played  him  false,  but  in 
a  few  minutes  a  gondola,  apparently  the  one  that  had  just  gone, 
approached  the  landing,  manned  like  it  by  six  masked  gondoliers. 
Don  Camillo  leaped  aboard  and  hastened  under  the  canopy 
only  to  find  it  empty.  This  gave  him  a  glimpse  of  the  truth — 
the  spies  of  Venice  had  once  more  got  the  better  of  him. 


JAMES   FENIMORE  COOPER  223 

"Gino,"  he  said,  "thou  didst  not  fail  to  dehver  the  note  to 
my  agent  ?  " 

"He  had  it  at  once,  Signore.  He  told  me  where  to  find  the 
gondola,  equipped  as  thou  seest." 

"The  mercenary  villain!  So  tender  is  his  care,  he  even 
deals  in  duplicates." 

Don  Camillo,  convinced  that  she  who  was  now  his  wife  was 
to  be  sent  somewhere  on  the  Dalmatian  coast,  sent  Gino  to  find 
out  the  condition  of  the  Bella  Sorrentina,  the  felucca  esteemed 
the  fastest  craft  in  port.  The  master  of  this  vessel,  though  born 
on  Don  Camillo's  estates,  was  secretly  in  the  service  of  Venice, 
receiving  his  orders  usually  through  Jacopo,  who  was  known 
to  him  only  as  Rodcrigo. 

Fortunately  for  the  interests  of  Don  Camillo,  the  Bravo  had 
been  a  witness  of  the  execution  of  his  friend,  the  fisherman 
Antonio,  who  had  been  thrown  overboard  and  left  to  drown  by 
the  agents  of  the  Republic,  and  this  had  so  disgusted  him 
that  he  determined  to  leave  the  city  and  seek  fortune  elsewhere. 
Meeting  with  the  Neapolitan,  who  naturally  mistrusted  him, 
he  at  last  won  his  entire  confidence  by  the  simple  recital  of  his 
own  wrongs.  His  aged  father  lay  in  the  dungeons  of  Venice 
under  a  false  charge,  and  his  own  efforts,  under  orders  of  the 
Senate,  had  been  in  hope  of  securing  his  parent's  release. 
"They  have  blasted  my  youth,  and  loaded  my  name  with  infamy. 
I  serve  them  no  longer,  Don  Camillo.  I  wait  only  the  last 
solemn  scene,  my  parent's  death — now  certain — and  then  I 
quit  the  city  of  deceit  forever." 

The  result  of  this  interview  was  that  the  captain  of  the  Bella 
Sorrentina  received  orders  from  Jacopo,  or  Roderigo,  to  receive 
ladies  on  board  and  to  be  ready  to  sail  at  once.  He  found  out, 
through  Annina,  that  the  ladies,  escaped  from  the  gondoliers 
who  had  them  in  charge,  had  taken  refuge  in  the  house  of  the 
keeper  of  the  prison.  Before  attempting  their  rescue,  he  saw 
the  necessity  of  disposing  of  Annina  herself;  so  he  enticed  her 
into  his  gondola  and  delivered  her  into  the  care  of  the  padrone 
of  the  Bella  Sorrentina,  with  strict  orders  to  keep  her  shut  in  the 
cabin  until  he  should  come  again.  He  then  ordered  Stefano  to 
lift  his  anchors  and  drop  below  the  other  vessels,  and  there  await 
his  return.     Next  he  hastened  to  the  prison  and  sought  the 


224  THE   BRAVO 

keeper's  daughter  Gelsomina,  to  whom  he  was  well  known  as 
Carlo.  Through  her  he  found  the  ladies,  and  bade  them 
follow  him. 

"Hast  thou  seen  the  Duca  di  Sant'  Agata?"  asked  Donna 
Florinda. 

"Question  me  not,  but  follow,  noble  dames." 

A  few  minutes  later  and  they  were  all  on  the  deck  of  the 
Bella  Sorreyitina. 

"Thou  hast  noble  ladies  as  thy  passengers,"  said  Jacopo  to 
the  padrone.  "  Pohcy  requires  that  they  should  quit  the  city 
for  a  time,  but  thou  wilt  gain  favor  by  consulting  their  pleasures." 

"Doubt  me  not.  Master  Roderigo;  but  thou  forgettest  I 
have  received  no  sailing  instructions." 

"An  officer  of  the  Republic  will  settle  this  with  thee.  Go 
without  the  Lido  and  await  my  coming.  If  I  do  not  return  by 
one  o'clock,  bear  away  to  Ancona,  and  await  further  tidings." 

Bidding  Stefano  to  permit  no  interview  between  the  ladies 
and  Annina,  Jacopo  returned  to  the  Piazza,  where  he  agreed 
to  meet  Don  Camillo  to  acquaint  him  with  news  of  the  dis- 
position of  the  two  ladies.  He  had  scarcely  landed  when  he  was 
confronted  by  a  masked  man  who  called  him  by  name.  The 
stranger  looked  cautiously  around  and  raising  his  mask  re- 
vealed the  features  of  Giacomo  Gradenigo.  Giacomo  offered 
him  a  bag  of  a  hundred  sequins,  with  a  promise  of  doubling  it  as 
soon  as  he  was  assured  of  the  death  of  Don  Camillo  Monforte, 
who  had  been  lured  from  his  palace,  and  was  now  waiting  an 
appointment  at  a  place  where  he  would  have  no  aid  but  that 
which  his  own  arm  would  afford  him. 

Jacopo  accepted  the  comimission  and  was  landed  on  the 
strand  of  the  Lido,  and  left  there. 

"Art  thou  sent  to  meet  me?"  demanded  Don  Camillo, 
coming  forward  with  his  unsheathed  rapier  in  his  hand. 

"Signore  Duca,  I  am,"  said  Jacopo,  unmasking. 

"  Jacopo !  This  is  better  than  I  had  hoped.  Hast  thou  tidings 
from  my  bride  ?  " 

"Follow,  Don  Camillo,  and  you  shall  soon  meet  her." 

A  few  minutes  sufficed  to  put  Don  Camillo  on  the  deck  of  the 
felucca,  where  he  folded  his  bride  in  triumph  to  his  heart. 
Jacopo  permitted  his  gondola  to  be  towed  a  league  to  sea  be- 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  225 

fore  he  entered  it  to  return  to  Venice.  Don  Camillo  tried  to 
induce  him  to  go  with  him,  but  the  Bravo  decHned  to  leave 
while  his  father  lived.  "Fear  not  for  me,  Signore.  God 
disposes  of  all  as  He  sees  fit.  If  fortune  favor  me,  I  may  some 
day  see  your  stout  castle  of  Sant'  Agata." 

But  fortune  rarely  favored  those  who  offended  Venice. 
Shortly  after  his  return  the  Bravo  was  summoned  before  the 
Council  of  Three  on  a  charge  of  assassinating  Don  Camillo, 
whose  means  of  departure  was  still  unknown.  The  Senators 
were  struck  with  astonishment  when  Jacopo  related  the  whole 
story  of  the  escape  and  informed  them  that  the  happy  lovers 
were  safe  in  the  States  of  the  Church,  under  the  protection  of 
the  Cardinal  Secretary,  Don  Camillo's  own  uncle. 

"Fool!  why  didst  thou  do  this?  Hadst  thou  no  thought 
for  thyself?" 

"  Eccellenza,  but  little.  I  have  not  known  so  sweet  a  moment 
in  years  as  that  in  which  I  saw  the  lord  of  Sant'  Agata  fold  his 
beautiful  bride  to  his  heart!" 

A  few  days  later  Jacopo  was  beheaded  in  the  public  square, 
ostensibly  for  the  murder  of  the  fisherman  Antonio,  a  crime  for 
which  the  Repubhc  itself  was  responsible. 


\.  D.,  VOL.  v.— 15 


THE     HEIDENMAUER;     OR,   THE    BENEDICTINES: 
A  LEGEND  OF  THE  RHINE  (1832) 

Diirkheim,  now  a  busy  town  among  the  vineyards  of  the  Haardt  Moun- 
tains, in  the  region  of  the  Rhine,  was  once  the  residence  of  the  Princes  of  Lein- 
ingcn-Hartenburg,  the  remains  of  whose  castle  are  still  extant.  About  one  and 
a  half  miles  west,  on  an  eminence,  are  the  picturesque  ruins  of  the  Benedictine 
Abbey  of  Limburg,  built  in  the  eleventh  century,  and  destroyed  in  1504  by 
Count  Emich  VIII  of  Leiningen,  whose  quarrel  with  the  monks  is  the  subject 
of  this  stor}'.  The  Heidenmauer  (Heathens'  Wall)  is  a  rude  stone  rampart  on 
the  Kastanienberg,  about  three  and  a  half  miles  in  circumference,  probably  of 
ancient  Germanic  origin.  The  object  of  the  tale  is  to  represent  society  in  the 
act  of  passing  from  the  influence  of  one  set  of  governing  principles  to  that  of 
another,  when  monk  and  baron  came  into  collision — the  former,  neither  pure  nor 
perfect,  descending  to  subterfuge  and  deceit;  the  latter,  under  the  influence 
of  Luther,  distrusting  the  faith  he  professed  and  vacillating  between  dread  of 
unknown  dangers  and  love  of  domination. 

■ASTER    BERCHTHOLD     HINTERMAYER, 

forester  to  Count  Emich  of  Hartenburg,  and 
Gottlob  Frinckc,  cowherd  to  the  same,  and  the 
forester's  foster-brother,  set  out,  one  moonhght 
night,  to  visit  the  Anchorite  of  the  Cedars,  a 
recluse  who  had  estabhshed  himself  in  the 
Heidenmauer  about  six  months  previously. 
None  had  seen  him  come,  none  knew  what 
brought  him  thither,  nor  could  any  say  from 
what  sources  he  drew  the  few  articles  of  household  furni- 
ture which  were  placed  in  his  hut.  A  plain  crucifix  at  his 
door  sufficiently  announced  the  motive  of  his  retirement.  The 
establishment  of  a  hermit  in  a  neighborhood  was  usually  hailed 
as  a  propitious  event  by  all  within  the  influence  of  his  name; 
but  Count  Emich,  the  burgomasters  of  Durkheim,  and  the  monks 
of  Limburg  disapproved  of  his  coming.  The  haughty  and  w^ar- 
like  baron  had  imbibed  a  standing  prejudice  against  all  devotees, 
while  the  magistrates  were  jealous  of  every  influence  which 
custom  and  the  laws  had  not  rendered  familiar.  As  to  the 
monks,  they  had  always  held  the  Abbot  of  Limburg  to  be  the 

2?6 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  227 

judge,  in  the  last  resort,  of  all  intercessions  between  earth  and 
heaven,  and  they  secretly  disliked  to  be  outdone  in  their  own 
profession. 

The  Heidenmauer,  originally  a  Roman  camp,  of  which  the 
Huns  under  Attila  had  prudently  availed  themselves  during  a 
winter  in  their  progress  south,  was  overgrown,  at  the  time  of  our 
tale,  by  cedars.  Here  and  there,  within  its  circuit,  were  the 
walls  of  roofless  habitations,  some  of  which  showed  signs  of 
later  occupancy,  though  now  abandoned.  One  low  building, 
with  a  single  window,  a  door,  and  a  rude  chimney,  showed 
signs  of  life  as  Berchthold  and  Gottlob  approached,  a  torch 
shining  dimly  from  its  casement. 

The  forester,  young,  active,  and  of  winning  manners,  wore  a 
coarse  frock  of  green  and  a  cap  of  green  velvet,  both  ornamented 
with  his  badge  of  office,  a  hunting-horn.  He  was  armed  with  a 
couteaii-de-chasse,  while  Gottlob,  more  coarsely  clad,  was 
provided  with  a  heavy  halberd  which  his  father  had  often 
wielded  in  battle.  WTiile  the  two  stood  looking  at  the  anchorite's 
dim  light,  they  were  suddenly  startled  by  a  monk  who  ap- 
peared beside  them.  As  they  were  on  the  lands  of  the  abbey, 
or  rather  on  ground  in  dispute  between  the  burghers  of  Diirk- 
heim  and  the  convent,  but  actually  in  possession  of  the  latter, 
they  felt  the  insecurity  of  their  situation  as  dependents  of  the 
Count  of  Hartenburg.  But  the  monk  received  them  civilly, 
asked  if  they  had  come  to  consult  the  anchorite,  and  invited 
them  to  accompany  him  to  the  hut  of  the  recluse. 

As  the  three  approached  the  open  door,  they  saw  that  the 
anchorite  was  not  alone.  Their  footsteps  had  evidently  been 
heard,  and  a  female  figure  had  time  to  arise  from  her  knees  and 
to  arrange  her  mantle  so  as  to  conceal  her  face.  As  the  Bene- 
dictine darkened  the  door,  the  two  young  men  stood  gazing 
over  his  shoulder  with  lively  curiosity  mingled  with  surprise. 

The  anchorite,  v/hose  form  and  countenance  indicated  mid- 
dle age,  regarded  his  visitors  earnestly  and  invited  them  to 
enter.  There  was  jealous  suspicion  in  the  glance  of  the  monk 
as  he  complied,  for  he  was  surprised  to  see  that  the  recluse  was 
usurping  so  intimate  an  influence  over  the  minds  of  the  young 
as  the  presence  of  this  female  would  indicate. 

"I  knew  thou  wert  of  holy  life,  venerable  hermit,"  he  said, 


228  THE  HEIDENMAUER 

"but  I  had  not  thought  thcc  vested  with  the  Church's  power 
to  harken  to  transgressions  and  to  forgive  sins!" 

"The  latter  is  an  office,  brother,  that  of  right  belongs  only 
to  God.  The  head  of  the  Church  himself  is  but  an  humble 
instrument  of  faith  in  discharging  this  solemn  trust." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  Gottlob,  in  obedience 
to  a  sign  from  Berchthold,  thrust  himself  into  the  conversa- 
tion in  such  a  way  as  to  engage  the  attention  of  the  two  and  to 
give  the  lady  a  chance  to  slip  out. 

"What  has  become  of  thy  companion  and  of  the  maiden?" 
hastily  demanded  the  Benedictine,  as  soon  as  he  noted  their 
absence.     "They  seem  to  have  left — and  in  company." 

"They  are  gone  as  they  came,"  replied  the  recluse,  "volun- 
tarily and  without  question." 

"Thou  knowcst  them  by  frequent  visits,  holy  hermit?" 

"Father,  I  question  none.  To  all,  at  parting,  I  say — God 
speed  ye." 

Berchthold  had  swiftly  followed  the  lady  when  she  slipped 
out  of  the  hut. 

"Thou  art  not  alone,  Meta,"  he  said,  as  he  reached  her  side. 

"Had  I  carried  imprudence  to  this  pass,  Master  Bercht- 
hold, thou  wouldst  have  reason  to  believe,  in  sooth,  that  it  was 
the  daughter  of  some  peasant  that  had  crossed  thy  footstep." 

"There  is  little  danger  of  that  error,"  said  Berchthold. 
"I  know  thee  well;  thou  art  Meta,  the  only  child  of  Heinrich 
Frey,  the  Burgomaster  of  Diirkheim.  None  know  thy  quality 
and  hopes  better  than  I." 

"I  feared  thou  shouldst  imagine  I  had  forgotten  the  modesty 
of  my  sex  and  condition — or  that — thy  manner  is  much  changed 
of  late,  Berchthold ! " 

"Thy  father  loves  me  not,  Meta?" 

"  He  does  not  so  much  disapprove  of  thee.  Master  Berchthold, 
as  that  thou  art  only  Lord  Emich's  forester.  Wert  thou,  as 
thy  parent  was,  a  substantial  burgher,  he  might  esteem  thee 
much.     But  thou  hast  great  favor  with  my  dear  mother." 

"Heaven  bless  her,  that  in  her  prosperity  she  hath  not  for- 
gotten those  who  have  fallen!" 

"Nay,  I  know  not  that  a  forester's  is  a  dishonorable  office. 
What  is  Count  Emich  but  a  vassal  of  the  Elector,  who  in  turn 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  229 

is  a  subject  of  the  Emperor  ?  Thou  shalt  not  dishonor  thyself 
thus,  Berchthold,  and  no  one  say  aught  to  vindicate  thee." 

"  Thanks,  dearest  Meta.  Thou  art  the  child  of  my  mother's 
oldest  and  dearest  friend;  and  in  truth,  the  fairest,  kindest,  and 
gentlest  damsel  of  thy  town." 

The  daughter  and  heiress  of  the  wealthiest  burgher  of  Diirk- 
heim  did  not  hear  this  opinion  of  Lord  Emich's  handsome  for- 
ester without  great  secret  satisfaction.  In  the  conversation 
which  followed  she  explained  to  Berchthold  that  she  had  come 
up  the  mountain  accompanied  by  her  old  nurse  Use,  who  was 
awaiting  her  at  the  opening  in  the  wall;  that  this  was  not  her 
first  visit  to  the  anchorite,  who  in  his  visits  to  the  town  had 
shown  her  mother  and  herself  greater  notice  than  to  any  others 
in  Diirkheim.  "My  mother — I  know  not  why — in  no  wise 
discourages  these  visits  to  the  Heidenmauer." 

"It  is  strange,  Meta,"  replied  Berchthold.  "The  holy  man 
who  thus  urges  his  advice  on  you,  most  gives  his  counsel  to  me 
among  the  youths  of  the  Jaegerthal ! " 

"We  are  young,  Berchthold,  and  may  not  yet  understand 
all  that  enters  into  older  and  wiser  heads." 

There  was  a  charm  in  this  idea  of  the  unexplained  sympathy 
between  the  man  of  God  and  themselves;  and  the  two  discussed 
it  long  and  earnestly,  for  it  seemed  to  both  that  it  contained  a 
tie  to  unite  them  still  closer  to  each  other.  Berchthold  left  his 
companion  when  the  two  reached  old  Use,  whom  they  found  fast 
asleep,  and  the  old  woman  accompanied  her  charge  down  the 
mountain  wholly  unconscious  that  Meta  had  seen  any  but  the 
holy  hermit. 

Meanwhile  the  Benedictine,  whom  Gottlob  recognized  as 
Father  Siegfried  of  the  Abbey,  had  found  the  cowherd  waiting 
outside  the  hut  after  he  had  finished  his  conference  with  the 
hermit,  and  took  occasion,  as  they  walked  down  the  mountain, 
to  question  him  closely  as  to  the  humor  of  the  people  of  Durk- 
heim  in  "this  matter  of  contention  between  our  holy  abbot  and 
Lord  Emich  of  Hartenburg." 

But  Gottlob  was  too  shrewd  to  commit  himself  on  either 
side  and  answered  evasively. 

"The  burghers  wish  to  see  the  affair  brought  to  an  end,  in 
such  a  way  as  to  leave  no  doubt  to  which  party  they  owe  most 


2^0 


THE   HEIDENMAUER 


obedience  and  love,  since  they  find  it  a  little  hard  upon  their  zeal 
to  have  so  large  demands  of  these  services  made  by  both  parties." 

"Thou  canst  not  serve  God  and  Mammon,  son.  So  sayeth 
one  who  could  not  deceive." 

"And  so  sayeth  reason,  too,  worshipful  monk.  But  to  give 
thee  my  inmost  soul,  I  believe  there  is  not  a  man  in  Diirkheim 
who  believes  himself  strong  enough  to  say,  in  this  strife  of  duties, 
which  is  God  and  which  is  Mammon." 

"How!  do  they  call  in  question  our  sacred  mission — our 
divine  embassy?" 

"The  most  we  say  in  Diirkheim  is  that  the  monks  of  Lim- 
burg  seem  to  be  men  of  God." 

"And  Lord  Emich?" 

"We  hold  it  wise,  father,  to  remember  he  is  a  great  noble. 
The  Elector  has  not  a  bolder  knight,  nor  the  Emperor  a  truer 
vassal;    we  say,  therefore,  he  seems  to  be  brave  and  loyal." 

"For  a  cowherd  thou  wantest  not  wit.  Dost  thou  think 
the  good  people  of  Diirkheim  will  stand  neuter  between  the 
Abbey  and  the  Count  ?  " 

"Father,  if  thou  wilt  show  me  by  which  side  they  will 
be  the  greater  gainers,  I  think  I  might  venture  to  say  on 
which  side  they  will  be  likely  to  draw  the  sword." 

After  much  more  desultory  conversation,  in  which  the  cow- 
herd outwitted  the  monk  by  his  seeming  simplicity.  Father 
Siegfried  bluntly  asked  Gottlob  to  do  him  a  service,  promising 
him  a  piece  of  gold  if  he  brought  him  the  news  he  wanted. 

"The  service  I  ask  of  thee  is  this:  We  have  had  reason  to 
know  that  there  is  a  strong  band  of  armed  men  in  the  castle, 
ready  and  anxious  to  assail  our  walls,  under  a  vain  belief 
that  they  contain  riches  and  stores  to  repay  the  sacrilege;  but 
we  want  precise  knowledge  of  their  numbers  and  intentions. 
Were  we  to  send  one  of  known  pursuits  on  this  errand,  the  Count 
would  find  means  to  mislead  him;  whereas  one  of  thy  intelli- 
gence might  purchase  the  Church's  kindness  without  suspicion." 

Gottlob  finally  agreed  to  do  his  best  to  obtain  the  desired  in- 
formation in  consideration  of  an  "image  of  the  Emperor  in 
gold,"  and  the  monk,  giving  him  his  benediction,  went  his  way 
to  the  Abbey. 

The  castle  of  Hartenburg,  perched  on  an  advanced  spur  of 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  231 

the  mountain  where  the  valley  was  most  confined,  consisted  of  a 
stronghold,  the  ancient  fortress,  now  surrounded  by  a  maze 
of  courts,  chapels,  towers,  and  outbuildings,  that  marked  the 
taste  of  the  day  and  the  consequence  of  the  owner.  The  hamlet 
which  lay  in  the  dell  beneath  its  walls  was  of  little  account  in 
estimating  the  resources  of  its  lord,  which  came  chiefly  from 
Diirkheim  and  the  fertile  plains  beyond.  For  certain  of  these 
lands  and  privileges  he  was  bound  to  knight's  service  and  to 
obedience  to  the  Abbot  of  Limburg,  a  bond  under  which  he 
chafed  and  which  had  led  to  much  ill  feeling  between  the  two. 
Among  other  dues  that  the  counts  had  paid  annually  to  the  Abbey 
were  fifty  casks  of  Rhenish  wine.  A  proposition  had  come  from 
Abbot  Bonifacius  that  he  and  two  of  the  brotherhood  should 
engage  with  the  Count  of  Hartenburg  and  two  of  his  friends  in 
a  drinking-bout,  to  decide  whether  the  tribute  should  be  doubled 
or  wiped  out  altogether.  To  this  end  the  Abbot,  accompanied  by 
Fathers  Siegfried  and  Cuno,  presented  themselves  at  the  castle, 
where  they  were  hospitably  received  by  Count  Emich  and  his 
two  friends,  Monsieur  Latouche,  a  French  abbe,  and  the 
Count's  cousin,  Albrecht  of  Viederbach,  a  knight  of  St.  John, 
lately  returned  from  fighting  the  Turks  at  Rhodes. 

The  Abbot  came  provided  with  two  written  instruments, 
which  M.  Latouche  read  carefully  aloud.  Count  Emich  listened 
warily  as  the  Abbe  read  clause  after  clause  of  the  deed,  and  at 
the  conclusion  called  for  an  eagle's  quill  and  executed  the 
instrument  on  his  part. 

"Look  you,  Bonifacius,"  he  said,  shaking  a  finger  at  the 
Abbot,  "should  there  be  a  flaw  in  this  our  convenant,  this 
sword  of  mine  shall  cut  it!" 

"First  earn  the  right,  Count  of  Lciningen.  The  deeds  are 
of  equal  virtue,  and  he  who  would  lay  claim  to  their  benefits 
must  win  the  wager." 

The  two  deeds  were  placed  on  a  high,  curiously  wrought 
vessel  of  silver  in  the  center  of  the  board,  and  the  contest  be- 
gan. The  glasses  were  filled  and  the  combatants,  at  signals 
from  Emich,  swallowed  draft  after  draft.  The  knight  of  St. 
John  was  the  first  to  succumb,  and  after  him  Father  Cuno 
slipped  from  his  seat  under  the  table.  Father  Siegfried  and 
the  Abbe  departed  almost  simultaneously,  leaving  Count  Emich 


232  THE  HEIDENMAUER 

and  the  Abbot  as  the  sole  contestants.  The  Count  was  past 
intelligible  utterance,  but  he  was  able  to  flourish  his  hand  in  de- 
fiance^ and  continued  the  conflict  by  muttcrings  that  seemed  to 
breathe  hatred  and  scorn. 

"The  Church's  malediction  on  ye  all!"  uttered  Bonifacius, 
as  he  fell  back  in  his  well-cushioned  arm-chair  and  yielded  to 
the  sinister  influences  of  the  liquor  he  had  swallowed.  When 
Emich  of  Leiningen  saw  this,  a  gleam  of  triumph  shot  from 
beneath  his  shaggy  eyebrows.  By  a  desperate  effort  he  reached 
and  possessed  himself  of  the  deed,  signed  for  Berchthold,  who 
was  in  attendance,  to  approach,  and,  aided  by  his  vigorous 
young  arm,  tottered  to  his  sleeping-apartment  and  fell,  clad  as 
he  was,  upon  his  couch.  Thus  ended  the  famous  drinking- 
bout  of  Hartenburg,  which  won  the  victor  little  less  renown 
than  if  he  had  gained  a  victory  in  the  field. 

The  next  day,  being  Sunday,  Count  Emich  went  up  with  his 
friends  to  attend  mass  at  the  Abbey  church,  in  which  all  the 
late  contestants,  the  Abbe,  Siegfried,  and  Cuno,  took  part. 
After  the  service  he  visited  the  tombs  of  his  ancestors  in  the 
cr}^pt  and  came  into  the  light  in  a  peaceful  frame  of  mind, 
when  he  saw  a  sight  that  stirred  up  his  pride  and  the  bitterest 
feelings  of  his  nature.  The  court  in  front  of  the  church  was 
occupied  by  groups,  in  which  he  recognized  the  burgomaster 
of  Durkheim  and  his  wife  and  daughter,  to  whom  the  knight 
of  Rhodes  and  the  Abbe  were  paying  court,  while  Berchthold 
stood  a  little  aloof,  watching  the  interview  with  jealous  eyes. 
But  what  angered  him  was  to  see,  drawn  up  in  military  order,  a 
large  band  of  soldiers,  wearing  the  colors  of  the  Elector  Friedrich. 
The  Count  held  out  his  hand  to  the  burgomaster. 

"Herr  Heinrich,"  he  said,  "hast  looked  well  at  these  knaves 
of  Friedrich?  Ha!  are  they  not  melancholy  and  ill  disposed 
at  being  cooped  up  with  Benedictines,  when  there  are  stirring 
times  in  the  Palatinate,  and  when  their  master  hath  as  much 
as  he  can  do  to  hold  his  court  at  Heidelberg?" 

The  burgher  made  no  reply,  but  the  exchange  of  glances  be- 
tween the  two  betrayed  the  nature  of  the  understanding  between 
the  castle  and  the  city. 

"You  spoke  of  commanding  my  duty,  mein  Herr  Graf,"  said 
the  burgomaster.     "In  what  manner  can  I  do  you  pleasure?" 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  233 

"Turn  thy  horse's  head  toward  Hartenburg  and  share  my 
poor  fare,  with  a  loving  welcome,  for  an  hour  or  so." 

In  response  to  this  invitation,  the  burgomaster,  with  Ulricke, 
his  wife  and  Meta,  his  daughter,  accompanied  Count  Emich 
to  his  castle,  where  important  conferences  took  place.  In  a 
private  talk  with  Heinrich  concerning  the  monks  and  their 
warlike  display,  the  burgomaster  said: 

*"Tis  plain  Duke  Friedrich  still  upholds  them.  The  men- 
at-arms  have  the  air  of  fellows  not  likely  to  yield  the  hill  with- 
out fair  contention." 

"Thinkest  thou  so?  Do  the  monks  still  press  the  town  for 
dues?" 

"With  offensive  importunity.  If  matters  be  not  quickly 
stayed,  we  shall  come  to  open  and  indecent  dissension." 

"Herr  Heinrich,  it  is  full  time  that  you  come  to  certain  con- 
clusions, else  shall  we  be  saddled  to  the  end  of  our  days  by  these 
hard-riding  priests!  Art  thou  not  wearied  with  their  greedy 
exactions,  that  thou  waitest  patiently  for  more  ?  " 

The  result  of  this  conference  was  a  resolution  on  the  part  of 
both  that  the  interests  of  the  castle  and  town  demanded  the 
suppression  of  the  Abbey.  This  conclusion  had  scarcely  been 
reached  when  Dame  Ulricke  interrupted  the  conference,  com- 
ing in  to  consult  the  Count  concerning  the  future  of  her  daughter 
Meta.  Heinrich  Frey  listened  patiently  to  what  his  wife  had 
to  say  in  regard  to  providing  a  proper  mate  for  his  daughter  un- 
til Ulricke  spoke  of  an  attachment  which  Meta  had  made. 

"This  is  getting  to  be  plain,  Herr  Emich,"  said  Heinrich, 
"and  must  needs  be  looked  to.  Wilt  condescend  to  name  the 
youth  thou  meanest,  Ulricke  ?  " 

"Berchthold  Hintermayer," 

"Berchthold  Teuf elstein ! "  exclaimed  the  burgomaster. 
"A  penniless  boy  is  truly  a  fit  husband  for  a  child  of  mine!" 

"He  is  not  rich,  Heinrich,"  was  her  answer,  "but  he  is 
worthy." 

"Hear  you  this,  Herr  Emich?  My  wife  is  lifting  the  cur- 
tain of  privacy  before  your  respected  eyes  with  a  freedom  for 
which  I  could  fain  cry  mercy." 

"  Berchthold  is  a  youth  I  love,"  gravely  observed  the  Count. 

"  In  that  case  I  shall  say  nothing  disrespectful  of  the  lad,  who 


234  THE  HEIDENMAUER 

is  a  worthy  forester,  and  in  all  things  suited  to  his  service  in  the 
family  of  Hartenburg;  still,  he  is  but  a  forester,  and  a  very 
penniless  one." 

Count  Emich  saw  how  interested  Ulricke  w^as  in  this  matter 
and,  turning  to  the  burgomaster,  said:  "Give  us  leave,  Herr 
Hcinrich;  I  would  fain  reason  this  matter  with  Ulricke  without 
thy  aid." 

"Kiss  me, dame,"  said  Heinrich,  rising,  "and  prithee  do  no 
dishonor  to  the  Count's  counsel." 

When  the  door  closed  behind  Heinrich,  Count  Emich  said: 

"I  love  young  Berchthold  Hintermayer,  good  Ulricke,  and 
would  aid  in  this  affair,  which  I  see  thou  hast  much  at  heart." 

"You  will  deserve  far  more  than  I  can  bestow,  Herr  Count, 
should  you  do  aught  to  secure  the  happiness  of  Meta." 

"Fair  wife,"  continued  Emich,  "thou  knowcst  the  manner 
in  which  these  Benedictines  have  so  long  vexed  our  valley. 
Wearied  of  their  insolence  and  exactions,  we  have  seriously 
bethought  us  of  the  means  by  which  to  reduce  them  to  the 
modesty  that  becometh  their  godly  professions." 

Emich  paused.  He  had  touched  on  the  very  subject  which 
had  been  Ulricke' s  chief  inducement  for  intruding  upon  the 
conspirators;  and  though  she  felt  deep  care  for  the  future  lot 
of  Meta,  her  real  object  was  to  find  out  about  the  plot,  which 
she  had  long  suspected,  and  to  warn  Heinrich  against  its  possible 
consequences. 

She  was  firm  in  her  belief  that  Limburg,  reared  in  honor  of 
God,  was  holy;  that  though  there  might  be  unworthy  ministers 
at  its  altars,  there  were  also  those  that  were  worthy;  and  that 
he  who  would  raise  a  hand  against  its  sacred  walls  would  be  apt 
to  repent  his  rashness  in  wo.  The  Count  was  disturbed  at  her 
earnestness,  and  leaned  his  chin  upon  his  hand  as  if  pondering 
on  the  hazards  of  his  enterprise.  At  last  he  turned  the  con- 
versation back  to  its  former  channel. 

"Thou  art  aware,  Ulricke,  that  there  are  heavy  issues  be- 
tween me  and  the  brotherhood  concerning  certain  dues,  not  only 
in  the  valley,  but  in  the  plain,  and  that  the  contest  fairly  settled 
in  my  favor  will  much  increase  my  revenues.  We  want  but 
this  ailair  rightly  settled  to  possess  the  means  of  winning  Heinrich 
to  our  desires  in  regard  to  Meta." 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  235 

"Could  this  he  honestly  done,  my  blessing  on  him  that 
shall  effect  it." 

"I  rejoice  to  hear  thee  say  this,  good  Ulricke,  for  Heinrich 
and  I  have  well-nigh  decided  on  the  fitness  of  disturbing  the 
monks  in  their  riotous  abominations." 

"Count  Emich,"  said  Ulricke,  folding  her  hands  and  turn- 
ing her  meek  blue  eyes  to  heaven,  "rather  than  aid  thee  in  this 
unhallowed  design;  rather  than  do  aught,  even  in  rebellious 
thought,  against  the  altars  of  my  God ;  rather  than  set  my  self- 
ishness in  array  against  His  dread  power,  I  could  follow  the 
girl  to  her  grave  with  a  tearless  eye  and  place  my  own  head  by 
her  side." 

The  Count  of  Leiningen  recoiled  at  the  energy  of  her 
words,  but  it  did  not  deter  him  from  his  purpose.  Two  nights 
later  a  band  of  a  hundred  burghers  under  Heinrich  Frey, 
joined  with  a  second  company  from  the  castle  under  command 
of  Berchthold  Hintermayer,  burst  in  the  Abbey  gates  and  fired 
the  buildings.  They  had  expected  resistance,  but  to  their  as- 
tonishment there  was  none  to  oppose  them,  the  men-at-arms 
of  the  Elector,  who  had  so  excited  the  ire  of  Count  Emich,  hav- 
ing been  withdrawn  the  night  before.  On  entering  the  Abbey 
church,  Heinrich  and  Berchthold  found  the  entire  community 
assembled  in  the  choir,  calmly  waiting  to  receive  the  blow  in 
their  collective  and  official  character.  The  candles  still  burned 
before  the  altar,  and  the  Abbe  sat  on  his  throne,  motionless,  in- 
disposed to  yield,  and  haughty,  though  with  features  that 
betrayed  great  but  repressed  passion.  While  their  followers 
crowded  into  the  body  of  the  church,  Heinrich  and  Berchthold 
advanced  into  the  choir  alone,  uncovered.  After  a  parley, 
in  v/hich  it  was  made  plain  to  Bonifacius  that  the  end  had  come, 
the  Abbot,  rising  with  dignity,  said: 

"Before  I  quit  these  holy  walls,  hear  my  malediction: 
on  thee  and  on  thy  town — on  all  that  call  thee  magistrate, 
parent — " 

"  Stay  thy  dreadful  words! "  cried  a  piercing  voice.  "  Rever- 
end and  holy  Abbot  have  mercy !  Madness  hath  seized  on  him 
and  the  town.  They  are  but  tools  in  the  hands  of  one  more 
powerful  than  they." 

"Thou  here!"  cried  Heinrich,  regarding  with  surprise  his 


236  THE   HEIDENMAUER 

wife,  who  ho  thought  had  gone  to  sec  the  hermit  of  the  Hei- 
dcnmaucr. 

"Hai>pily  here,  to  avert  this  fearful  crime  from  thee  and  thy 

household." 

"Go  to,  good  Ulricke,  what  can  thy  sex  know  of  policy? 
Depart  with  thy  nurse,  and  leave  us  to  do  our  pleasure." 

"Berchlhold,  I  make  the  last  appeal  to  thee.  This  cruel 
father,  this  negligent  husband,  is  too  madly  bent  on  his  counsel, 
and  on  the  policy  of  the  town,  to  remember  God!" 

At  this  juncture,  one  closely  muffled  advanced  and,  throwing 
aside  his  cloak,  showed  the  armed  person  of  Emich  of  Leiningen. 
When  Ulricke  recognized  the  unbending  eye  of  the  Baron,  she 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  went  out.  Her  husband  and 
Berchthold  followed  anxiously,  and  did  not  return  to  the  work 
until  they  had  seen  her  placed  under  proper  protection. 

"What  wouldst  thou,  audacious  Baron?"  cried  the  Abbot, 
when  he  recognized  Emich. 

"Peace  in  this  oft-violated  valley — humihty  in  shaven 
crowns — religion  without  hypocrisy — and   mine  own." 

"In  the  behalf  of  that  God  to  whom  this  shrine  hath  been 
raised,  in  His  holy  interest,  and  in  His  holy  name — " 

"At  thy  peril,  priest!"  shouted  Emich.  "Where  are  ye, 
followers  of  Hartenburg?  Down  with  the  maledictions  of  this 
mad  monk!" 

The  Abbot,  signing  to  the  community,  descended  slowly 
and  with  dignity  from  his  throne,  and  led  the  way  from  the 
choir.  Emich  followed  with  a  troubled  eye  the  procession  of 
monks  as  they  filed  out  in  silence,  and  his  followers,  taking 
this  retreat  as  an  abandonment  of  their  possessions,  renewed 
the  work  of  destruction,  smashing  windows  and  monuments 
and  casting  down  the  holy  images.  The  confessionals  were 
j)iled  up  and  set  on  fire;  the  flames  reached  the  roof,  and  soon 
the  whole  hill  presented  to  those  in  the  valley  only  volumes  of 
red  flame  or  of  lurid  smoke. 

Meanwhile  Father  Johan  rushed  into  the  choir,  and  seizing 
some  of  the  most  venerated  of  the  relics  held  them  on  high, 
while  burning  brands  were  falling  to  the  pavement,  as  if  he 
expected  Heaven  to  stop  the  sacrilege.  Berchthold,  seeing 
his  peril,  darted  in  to  save  him. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  237 

"Berchthold!  Berchthold!  Come  forth!"  shouted  the 
Count.  "He  will  die  with  the  wretched  monk!  The  youth  is 
mad!" 

Then  came  a  crashing  of  rafters  and  a  blaze  of  fire,  and  the 
earth  shook  with  the  fall  of  the  roof.  The  interior  became  a 
fiery  furnace.  The  monk  was  seen  to  rise  and  then  fall  again, 
but  Berchthold  had  disappeared. 

Some  weeks  later,  Count  Emich,  who,  though  disposed  to 
throw  off  the  dominion  of  the  Church,  so  far  clung  to  ancient 
prejudices  as  to  entertain  grave  scruples  of  the  lawfulness  of 
the  step  his  ambition  had  caused  him  to  adopt,  endeavored  to 
atone  in  some  measure  for  his  deed  by  going  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
Einsiedeln  and  in  doing  penance.  In  this,  Heinrich,  Ulricke, 
Meta,  Lottchen,  the  mother  of  Berchthold,  and  many  who 
had  taken  part  in  the  sacrilege,  assisted.  After  their  return 
rumors  prevailed  that  the  spirits  of  Berchthold,  hunting  with 
his  hounds,  and  the  monk,  had  been  seen  near  the  Heidenmauer; 
and  these  became  so  persistent  that  Count  Emich,  who  had  been 
told  that  the  ghostly  visitations  would  never  cease  until  the 
Benedictines  were  restored  to  their  abbey,  determined  to  find 
out  the  truth  of  the  stories,  which  he  believed  were  set  afloat 
by  the  monks  themselves.  A  procession  to  the  Heidenmauer 
was  accordingly  arranged,  the  Count  and  the  burgomaster  in 
front,  the  parish  priests  following,  and  behind  them  the  pilgrims. 
As  the  entrance  of  the  walled  enclosure  was  reached,  the  baying 
of  hounds  among  the  trees  caused  all  to  shudder,  and  many 
to  cry  out.  But  the  Count,  seizing  his  sword  with  an  iron  grasp, 
cried:    "Let  us  go  on!     'Tis  but  a  hound!" 

The  next  instant  two  hounds  rushed  out  of  the  grove,  followed 
by  Berchthold,  and  Lottchen  fell  into  the  arms  of  her  son. 

His  story  was  soon  told.  WTien  the  roof  of  the  Abbey  fell, 
he  and  Odo  the  anchorite  had  escaped,  both  wounded  and 
bleeding,  into  the  crypt,  where  they  had  been  found  and  cared 
for  by  the  Benedictines.  For  certain  reasons  the  monks  had 
obhged  him,  when  recovered,  to  take  a  vow  of  seclusion  until 
the  return  of  the  pilgrims. 

It  turned  out  that  the  anchorite,  who  had  shared  his  dangers, 
was  the  Herr  Odo,  Baron  von  Ritterstein,  who  had  assumed 
the  hermit's  garb  and  life  in  expiation  of  an  act  of  sacrilege  done 


238  THE  HEIDENMAUER 

in  his  youth.  He  had  been  an  old  lover  of  Ulricke,  and  now, 
in  consideration  of  his  former  attachment  for  her  and  his  regard 
for  Bcrchthold,  he  gave  the  latter  a  deed  of  all  his  worldly 
possessions,  including  his  castle  of  Ritterstein.  This  removed 
the  last  objection  of  Heinrich  to  Count  Emich's  forester;  and 
on  the  following  day  Berchthold  and  Meta  were  united. 


THE  HEADSMAN;    OR,  THE  ABBAYE  DES 
VIGNERONS   (1833) 

The  principal  scenes  of  this  tale  are  Lake  Leman,  now  generally  called 
the  Lake  of  Geneva,  and  the  Hospice  of  St.  Bernard,  on  the  Great  St.  Ber- 
nard Pass.  Its  political  purpose  is  similar  to  that  noted  in  the  introduction  to 
The  Bravo. 

5HE  Winkelried,  a  two-masted  lateen-rigged 
vessel,  bound  from  Geneva  on  Lake  Leman  to 
the  canton  of  Vaiid,  was  so  heavily  overladen  as 
to  render  the  passage  dangerous  in  any  but  fair 
weather.  Besides  an  unusual  number  of  passen- 
gers, attracted  to  Vevay  by  the  Abbaye  des 
Mgnerons,  the  fete  supposed  to  be  the  modern 
representative  of  the  festival  of  Bacchus,  the 
bark  was  piled  high  with  merchandise  and 
country  products  which  their  owners  hoped  would  find  a  market 
at  the  fair.  A  portion  of  the  deck  aft  was  reserved  for  persons 
of  quality,  while  a  space  forward  was  devoted  to  peasants  and 
others  of  less  consequence.  IMost  of  the  freight  belonged  to 
Nicklaus  Wagner,  a  burgher  of  Bern. 

Among  the  better-class  passengers  were  Baron  Melchior  de 
Willading,  of  Bern,  and  his  daughter  Adelheid,  on  their  way 
to  Italy  in  search  of  health  for  the  latter.  With  them  was  a 
Signore  Gaetano  Grimaldi,  a  Genoese  gentleman  who  had 
served  with  dc  W^illading  in  his  youth  in  Italy,  but  whom  he 
had  not  seen,  until  this  chance  meeting,  for  thirty  years.  An- 
other friend  of  the  Baron's  was  a  young  soldier,  of  a  deter- 
mined eye  and  stalwart  frame,  whom  he  addressed  as  Mon- 
sieur Sigismund.  He  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  save  the 
life  of  Adelheid,  and,  though  not  gentle  by  birth,  had  since  been 
held  in  high  favor. 

Among  the  other  passengers  were  a  self-possessed  Italian 

239 


240  THE   HEADSMAN 

with  the  bearing  of  a  mariner,  whose  companion  was  a  shaggy 
Newfoundland  dog  called  Nettuno,  who  had  given  his  name 
as  Maso,  "though  wicked-minded  men  call  me  oftener  II 
IMaledetto";  an  Augustine  monk,  in  black  robe  and  white  belt, 
who  also  had  a  dog,  a  large  St.  Bernard  called  Uberto,  that  had 
made  friends  with  Nettuno;  a  Neapolitan  named  Pippo,  a 
vagabond  and  knave  who  traveled  by  his  wits;  several  poor 
scholars  on  a  literary  pilgrimage  to  Rome;  small  traders  re- 
turning from  Germany  and  France;  several  lackeys  out  of  a 
situation;  and  a  troupe  of  street  jugglers.  Great  pains  had 
been  taken  to  ascertain  the  identity  of  these  various  personages, 
for  it  was  currently  reported  that  Balthazar,  the  headsman  of 
Bern,  w-as  to  take  passage  in  the  Winkelried,  and  none  cared  to 
trust  himself  on  the  seas  with  such  a  person. 

The  Lake  of  Geneva,  or  Lake  Leman  as  it  was  then  generally 
called,  is  a  treacherous  sheet.  The  Winkelried  had  worked 
into  the  eastern  crescent  of  the  lake  as  the  sun  touched  the  hazy 
line  of  the  Jura,  when  the  wind  failed  entirely,  and  the  surface 
became  as  smooth  and  glassy  as  a  mirror.  The  crew,  fatigued 
with  their  previous  toil,  threw  themselves  among  the  boxes 
and  bales  to  catch  a  little  sleep  before  the  rising  of  the  north 
wind,  usually  expected  within  an  hour  or  two  after  sunset. 
Among  the  passengers  was  one  whose  eye  had  often  been  seen 
to  turn  toward  the  group  of  passengers  near  the  helmsman, 
and  at  last  Signore  Grimaldi  invited  him  to  descend  from 
among  the  bales  and  boxes  and  join  them. 

The  soldier  called  Sigismund  came  forward  and  helped  him 
down  to  the  deck,  where  he  walked  about  in  a  way  to  show  a 
grateful  relief  in  being  permitted  to  make  the  change.  Sigis- 
mund was  rewarded  for  his  act  of  good  nature  by  a  smile  from 
Adelheid,  which  caused  his  brow  to  flush. 

"You  are  better  here,"  said  the  baron  kindly,  when  the 
newTomer,  Herr  Miiller,  had  fairly  established  himself  among 
them.     "  Are  you  of  Bern  or  of  Zurich  ?  " 

"Of  Bern,  Herr  Baron." 

"I  might  have  guessed  that.  There  are  many  Miillers  in 
the  Emmen  Thai.  I  had  many  Miillers  in  my  company, 
Gaetano,  when  we  lay  before  Mantua." 

Signore  Grimaldi,  noting  from  Herr  Muller's  timid  and  sub- 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  241 

dued  answers  that  the  personal  nature  of  the  conversation  was 
distressful  to  him,  turned  the  talk  by  asking  the  monk  of  St. 
Bernard  about  his  mountain  home,  which,  he  said,  should 
prove  a  passport  to  the  favor  of  every  Christian. 

"Signore,"  observed  the  sailor  called  Maso,  taking  part 
iminvited  in  the  discourse,  "none  know  this  better  than  I. 
A  wanderer  these  many  years,  I  have  often  seen  the  stony 
roof  of  the  hospice  with  as  much  pleasure  as  I  have  ever  be- 
held the  entrance  of  my  haven  in  an  adverse  gale." 

"Thou  art  a  Genoese,  by  thy  dialect,"  said  Signore  Grimaldi. 

"I  was  bom  in  the  city  of  palaces,  though  it  was  my  fortune 
first  to  see  the  light  beneath  a  humble  roof.  I  am  what  I  seem 
more  by  the  acts  of  others  than  by  any  faults  of  my  own.  I  envy 
not  the  rich  or  great,  however;  for  one  that  has  seen  as  much  of 
hfe  as  I  knows  the  difference  between  the  gay  colors  of  the  gar- 
ment and  that  of  the  shriveled  and  diseased  skin  it  conceals." 

"Thou  hast  the  philosophy  of  it,  young  man.  If  content 
with  thy  lot,  no  palace  of  our  city  would  make  thee  happier." 

"Content,  Signore,  is  like  the  north  star — all  seamen  steer 
for  it,  but  none  can  ever  reach  it!" 

"Is  thy  seeming  moderation  only  affected?  Wouldst  thou 
be  the  patron  of  the  bark  in  which  fortune  hath  made  thee 
only  a  passenger?" 

"And  a  bad  fortune  it  hath  proved,"  replied  Maso,  laugh- 
ing.    "We  appear  fated  to  pass  the  night  in  it." 

The  evening  was  hot  and  sultry,  and  after  sunset  the  sky 
took  a  solemn  and  menacing  appearance.  Maso,  after  studying 
the  heavens  closely,  went  and  waked  Baptiste.  The  drowsy 
owner  of  the  bark  rubbed  his  eyes  and  exclaimed,  "Why  didst 
thou  wake  me  ?    There  is  not  a  breath  of  wind ! " 

"  Dost  see  yonder  bright  light  ?  " 

"Ay,  'tis  a  gallant  star!  a  fair  sign  for  the  mariner." 

"Fool,  'tis  a  flame  in  Roger  de  Blonay's  beacon  to  warn 
us  of  danger." 

The  next  moment  a  flash  of  red  quivering  light  was  emitted, 
and  a  distant  rumbling  rush,  which  resembled  not  thunder,  but 
rather  the  wheeling  of  many  squadrons  into  line,  followed  it. 
The  wind  rose  and  the  bark,  so  long  at  rest,  began  to  labor  under 
its  great  and  unusual  burden. 

A.  D.,  VOL.  V. — 16 


242  THE  HEADSMAN 

'"Tis  madness  to  waste  the  precious  moments  longer,"  said 
jMaso.  ''  Signorc,  we  must  be  bold  and  prompt,  or  we  shall  be 
caught  by  the  tempest  unprepared." 

"What  wouldst  thou?"  demanded  Signore  Grimaldi. 

"We  must  lighten  the  bark,  though  it  cost  the  whole  of  her 
freight." 

Nicklaus  Wagner  and  even  Baptiste  raised  an  energetic 
protest  against  this  sacrifice,  but  Maso,  shouting  "Overboard 
with  the  freight,  if  ye  would  live!"  set  to  work  throwing  out 
the  cargo,  in  which  he  was  soon  assisted  by  many  willing  hands. 
After  much  of  the  deck-load  had  disappeared,  the  movements 
of  the  vessel  became  more  lively  and  sane.  The  passengers 
now  gathered  between  the  masts,  and  some  suggested  that  the 
bark  was  cursed  by  the  possible  presence  among  them  of  the 
headsman.  Baptiste  trembled  when  the  question  was  put 
squarely  to  him,  finally  permitting  the  dangerous  secret  to 
escape  him,  and  when  ordered  to  point  out  the  headsman, 
indicated  the  person  who  called  himself  Herr  Miiller.  The 
poor  man  was  greeted  with  a  general  and  breathless  pause,  but 
it  was  only  the  precursor  of  a  hurricane,  for  the  next  instant  he 
was  seized  by  Pippo  and  others,  and  borne  struggling  to  the 
side  of  the  vessel.  The  headsman  appealed  loudly  for  help. 
Sigismund  sprang  forward  at  the  cry,  followed  by  the  Baron 
and  Signore  Grimaldi,  and  was  just  in  time  to  catch  the  heads- 
man by  his  garments.  He  swung  him  inward  by  a  vast  effort 
of  strength,  and  his  body,  striking  the  two  nobles  as  well  as 
Baptiste  and  Nicklaus  Wagner,  forced  all  four  into  the  water. 
Adelheid  and  the  other  women,  who  had  been  lashed  to  the 
masts,  set  up  a  fearful  cry,  and  Sigismund,  who  heard  his 
name  above  the  tumult,  sprang  into  the  caldron  of  the  lake, 
bent  on  saving  a  life  so  dear  to  Adelheid  or  perishing  in  the 
attempt. 

Maso,  who  had  watched  the  crisis  with  a  seaman's  coolness, 
shouted,  "Netttmo,  Nettuno!  where  art  thou,  brave Nettuno ? " 

The  faithful  animal,  whining  near  him  but  unheard  in  the 
roar  of  the  elements,  leaped  into  the  boiling  lake  at  the  encourage- 
ment of  his  master's  voice,  while  Maso  knelt  on  the  edge  of  the 
gangway  and  bending  forward  gazed  into  the  night  with  aching 
eyes.    He  shouted  encouragement  to  the  dog,  and  gathering  a 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  243 

small  rope  made  a  coil  with  one  end,  cast  it  out  and  hauled  it 
in  repeatedly. 

The  Baron  was  about  sinking  for  the  last  time  when  Sigis- 
mund  reached  him.  The  soldier  heard  his  cry — "  God  be  with 
my  child,  my  Adelheid!" — and  seized  him  just  as  the  old 
man's  strength  gave  out. 

"Yield  thee  to  the  dog,  Signore,"  he  cried  to  Signore  Gri- 
maldi,  "trust  to  his  sagacity,  and — God  keep  us  in  mind." 

The  dog  swam  steadily  away  as  soon  as  he  had  the  Genoese 
in  his  grip,  and  Sigismund  followed  with  his  burden.  The 
soldier  soon  heard  the  shouts  of  Maso  calling  to  his  dog,  and  a 
moment  later  caught  the  coil  of  rope  and  was  drawn  with  the 
baron  to  the  deck,  where  both  received  those  attentions  already 
offered  to  Signore  Grimaldi,  saved  by  Nettuno.  The  faithful 
dog  had  swam  away  into  the  darkness  again  on  delivering 
his  burden,  and  Maso  still  stood  at  the  gangway  shouting 
his  name  and  throwing  his  coil  of  rope.  Maso  heard  the  dog 
growl,  then  came  a  sound  of  smothered  voices  and  long  howls, 
after  which  only  the  roar  of  the  elements  reached  his  ears.  He 
called  till  he  grew  hoarse,  and  when  he  found  that  no  cry 
could  recall  his  faithful  companion,  he  threw  himself  on  the 
deck  in  a  paroxysm  of  passion,  tore  his  hair,  and  wept  audibly. 
The  Augustine  tried  to  comfort  him,  saying: 

"Thou  hast  saved  all  our  lives,  bold  mariner,  and  there  are 
those  in  the  bark  will  know  how  to  reward  thy  courage  and 
skill.  Forget  then  thy  dog,  and  indulge  in  a  grateful  prayer 
to  Maria  and  the  saints." 

"Father,  I  have  eaten  with  the  animal,  slept  with  the  ani- 
mal, fought,  swam,  and  made  merry  with  him,  and  I  could 
now  drown  with  him.  What  are  thy  nobles  and  their  gold 
to  me  without  my  dog?" 

"Christians  have  been  called  into  the  dread  presence  uncon- 
fessed  and  unshrived,  and  we  should  bethink  us  of  their  souls 
rather  than  indulge  in  grief  for  one  who,  however  faithful, 
ends  but  an  unreasoning  existence." 

These  words  of  the  good  father,  who  referred  to  Baptiste 
and  Nicklaus  Wagner,  both  of  whom  had  been  lost,  were 
thrown  away  on  Maso,  who  did  not  cease  to  bewail  the  loss  of 
Nettuno. 


244  THE   HEADSMAN 

The  fitful  mountain  gusts  were  succeeded  in  the  morning 
by  a  steady  northerly  breeze,  and  Maso,  who  now  assumed 
command  of  the  Winkdricd,  soon  took  her  safely  into  the  harbor 
of  \'e\-ay.  A  hundred  voices  greeted  the  passengers  as  they 
landed,  for  the  coming  of  the  vessel  had  been  watched  for  with 
anxietv.  In  the  crowd  came  a  shaggy  object  bounding  with 
delight,  and  JMaso  found  his  Nettuno,  who  leaped  upon  him  in 
frantic  joy. 

The  Baron  de  Willading  and  his  friend  were  entertained  at 
the  castle  of  Roger  de  Blonay.  On  the  succeeding  day  the  Baron 
announced  to  Grimaldi  his  intention  of  giving  his  daughter  to 
Sigismund,  who  had  now  been  instrumental  in  saving  Adelheid's 
life  and  his  own.  The  Genoese  looked  grave  as  he  listened,  and 
finally  said: 

"Such  a  girl,  my  friend,  is  not  to  be  bestowed  without  much 
care  and  reflection." 

"By  the  mass!  I  wonder  to  hear  thee  talk  thus!  I  remem- 
ber thy  sa}-ing  once  that  thou  couldst  not  sleep  soundly  till  thy 
own  sister  was  a  wife  or  a  nun." 

"The  language  of  thoughtless  youth.  I  wived  a  noble  vir- 
gin, De  Willading;  but  I  much  fear  I  was  too  late  to  win  her 
love.  Her  fancy  had  been  captivated  by  another,  and  I  was 
accepted  as  a  cure  to  a  bleeding  heart.  The  unhappy  Angio- 
lina  died  in  giving  birth  to  her  first  child,  the  unfortunate  son 
of  whom  thou  knowest.  Beware  of  making  marriage  a  mere 
convenience." 

"But  Adelheid  loves  this  youth." 

"And  Sigismund!  he  has  thy  approbation?" 

"He  has;  but  there  is  an  obstacle — he  is  not  noble." 

"The  objection  is  serious,  my  honest  friend.  I  would  he 
were  noble.     What  is  his  origin  and  history  ?  " 

"Sigismund  is  a  Swiss,  of  a  family  of  Bernese  burghers. 
I  know  little  of  him  beyond  that  he  has  passed  several  years  in 
foreign  service.  My  sister,  near  whose  castle  the  acquaintance 
began  through  his  saving  Adelheid's  life  in  one  of  our  moun- 
tain accidents,  permitted  their  intercourse,  which  it  is  now  too 
late  to  think  of  prohibiting." 

"Let  his  origin  be  what  it  may,"  said  the  Genoese,  "he 
shall  not  need  gold.     I  charge  myself  with  that." 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  245 

If  would  seem  as  if  this  conversation  between  the  two  old 
friends  made  the  way  clear  for  the  union  of  the  lovers;  but 
when,  at  their  next  meeting,  Adelheid  delicately  suggested  to 
Sigismund  that  her  father  had  consented  to  overlook  his  want 
of  noble  birth,  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow  like  one  in 
intense  agony,  while  a  cold  perspiration  broke  out  on  forehead 
and  temples  in  large  visible  drops. 

"Adelheid — dearest  Adelheid — thou  knowest  not  what  thou 
sayest!     One  like  me  can  never  become  thy  husband," 

"Sigismund! — why  this  distress.  Speak  to  me!  T  love 
thee,  Sigismund.     Wouldst  thou  have  me — can  I  say  more?" 

"Blessed,  ingenuous  girl!  But  what  does  it  all  avail?  Our 
marriage  is  impossible." 

"But  why,  Sigismund?  If  thou  lovest  me,  speak  calmly 
and  without  reserve." 

"Spare  me — in  mercy,  Adelheid,  spare  me!  I  am  the  son 
of  Balthazar,  the  headsman ! " 

As  Sigismund  uttered  this  he  would  have  fled  from  the 
room,  but  Adelheid  detained  him  and,  after  the  first  shock  was 
over,  made  him  tell  the  story  of  his  life.  Sigismund  had  only 
lately  discovered  his  parentage,  for  he  had  been  put  away 
early  by  Balthazar  in  order  to  break  the  continuity  of  the  heads- 
man's line,  for  the  office  was  hereditary  and  the  eldest  son  was 
obliged  to  succeed  the  father.  Through  the  connivance  of  his 
mother,  a  daughter  of  the  headsman  of  Neuchatel,  Sigismund 
was  conveyed  from  the  house  when  an  infant,  the  fraud  being 
concealed  by  a  feigned  death,  so  that  the  authorities  were 
ignorant  of  his  existence.  His  sister  also  had  her  birth  concealed ; 
a  younger  brother,  expected  to  succeed  the  father,  had  died  and, 
in  default  of  the  discovery  of  Sigismund's  heirship,  a  distant 
kinsman  had  fallen  heir  to  the  privileges,  if  such  they  might 
be  called. 

"Why  should  the  truth  ever  be  known!"  exclaimed  Adel- 
heid. "  Thou  sayest  thy  family  has  ample  means.  Relinquish 
all  to  this  youth,  on  condition  that  he  assume  thy  place!" 

Adelheid,  like  a  dutiful  daughter,  made  known  to  her  father 
at  once  the  secret  of  Sigismund's  birth.  The  Baron  and  the 
Signore  Grimaldi  gazed  at  her  as  she  told  his  story  as  if  as- 
tounded by  some  dire  calamity. 


2^6  THE  HEADSMAN 

"A  damnable  and  a  fearful  fact!"  exclaimed  Melchior. 
"The  villain  would  engraft  his  impurity  on  the  untarnished 
stock  of  a  noble  and  ancient  family.  This  is  a  dark  and  das- 
tardly crime." 

"Let  us  not  rashly  blame  the  boy,  good  Melchior,"  said  his 
friend,  "whose  birth  is  a  misfortune  rather  than  a  crime.  If 
he  were  a  thousand  Balthazars,  he  has  saved  our  lives!" 

"Thou  sayest  true — thou  sayest  no  more  than  the  truth. 
But  dost  thou,  Gaetano  Grimaldi,  counsel  me  to  give  my  child, 
the  heiress  of  my  lands  and  name,  to  the  son  of  the  pubhc 
executioner  ?  " 

"There  thou  hast  me  on  the  hip,  Melchior.  Oh!  why  is 
this  Balthazar  so  rich  in  offspring,  and  I  so  poor?  But  this  is 
an  affair  of  many  sides,  and  should  be  judged  by  us  as  men 
as  well  as  nobles.  Leave  us,  Adclheid,  that  we  may  command 
ourselves;  for  thy  sweet,  pale  face  appeals  too  eloquently  to  my 
heart  in  behalf  of  the  noble  boy." 

It  was  the  last  day  of  the  festival  at  Vevay,  and  arrange- 
ments had  been  made  to  celebrate  it  by  a  marriage  between 
Jacques  Colis,  a  native  of  Vaud,  and  Christine,  the  daughter 
of  Balthazar.  Colis,  in  consideration  of  a  rich  dower,  had  con- 
sented to  wed  the  headsman's  daughter,  provided  that  her 
paternity  should  be  kept  secret.  The  contracting  parties  were 
about  to  sign  the  marriage  settlements,  when  Pippo,  the  rascally 
Italian  who  had  tried  with  others  to  throw  Balthazar  overboard, 
came  forward,  half  intoxicated,  and  publicly  announced  that 
the  fair  bride  was  the  daughter  of  the  headsman  of  Bern— 
"who  is  sufficiently  out  of  favor  with  Heaven  to  bring  the  fate  of 
Gomorrah  upon  your  town." 

Balthazar,  seeing  that  his  secret  was  betrayed,  looked 
around  with  firmness  and  responded  to  the  question  of  the 
bailiff:  "Herr  Bailiff,  I  am  by  inheritance  the  last  avenger 
of  the  law." 

This  admission  was  received  in  solemn  silence  by  the  spec- 
tators, but  Jacques  Colis  seized  the  marriage  contract,  which 
he  had  already  signed,  tore  it  in  fragments,  and  announced  that 
he  would  not  marry  a  headsman's  child.  This  declaration 
was  followed  by  a  shout  from  the  bystanders,  and  by  coarse, 
deriding  laughter. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  247 

Sigismund  grasped  his  sword-hilt  and  would  have  inter- 
posed, but  for  Adelheid,  who  whispered: 

"For  the  sake  of  thy  poor  sister,  forbear!  It  is  impossible 
that  one  so  sweet  and  innocent  should  long  remain  with  her 
honor  unavenged!" 

The  result  was  that  Adelheid  sought  Christine  soon  after, 
wept  with  her  and  consoled  her,  and  persuaded  the  humiliated 
girl  to  accompany  her  on  the  morrow  to  Italy. 

The  next  morning  a  long  cavalcade,  consv^tin^  of  the  Baron 
de  Willading  and  Signore  Grimaldi  with  their  followers  and 
others,  set  out  for  the  Hospice  of  St  Bernard,  under  the  guidance 
of  Pierre  Dumont.  The  party  was  well  armed,  for  freebooters 
were  known  to  infest  the  mountain  road.  To  the  inquiries  of 
Signore  Grimaldi  as  to  those  who  had  gone  up  lately,  the  guide 
replied  that  a  certain  Pippo  with  other  vagabonds  had  preceded 
them,  as  well  as  one  Jacques  Colis,  who  had  left  Vevay  on  ac- 
count of  some  foolery  that  had  made  him  the  butt  of  all  the 
jokers.  Signore  Grimaldi,  who  noted  Sigismund's  agitation, 
changed  the  subject  by  asking  if  there  were  no  others. 

"A  countryman  of  your  own,  Signore,  who  impudently  calls 
himself  //  Maledetto." 

"Honest  Maso  and  his  noble  dog!" 

"Signore,  Maso  hath  not  his  equal  on  the  road  for  activity 
and  courage,  but  when  you  speak  of  honesty,  you  speak  of  that 
for  which  the  world  gives  him  little  credit." 

"This  may  be  true  enough,"  rejoined  Signore  Grimaldi 
"but  we  know  him  to  be  a  most  efficient  friend,  and  owe  him  a 
grateful  recollection." 

After  leaving  Martigny  the  travelers  pressed  on  as  fast  as 
the  road  would  permit,  but  night  overtook  them  and  snow 
began  to  fall.  They  lost  their  way  and  were  on  the  point  of 
perishing  when  they  were  joined  by  Maso  and  Ncttuno,  and 
later  by  the  mastiff  Uberto,  sent  out  from  the  hospice.  By 
the  help  of  the  two  dogs,  the  house  of  refuge  was  reached,  in 
which  the  party  spent  a  comfortable  night. 

Why  old  Uberto  had  led  them  to  the  refuge  was  a  mystery 
to  the  guide,  for  the  dog  had  never,  in  his  experience,  been 
known  to  do  so  before;  then,  attracted  by  the  animal's  singular 
actions,  he  looked  into  the  dead-house  adjoining  the  refuge, 


248  THE  HEADSMAN 

and  found  there  tlic  body  of  a  man  recognized  at  once  as  Jacques 
Colis.  Investigation  showed  that  he  had  been  murdered. 
There  were  several  wounds  on  the  body,  his  clothes  bore  evi- 
dences of  a  struggle,  and  a  knife  was  found  sticking  in  his  back. 
From  a  corner  of  the  same  building  they  next  dragged  out  a 
living  man,  who,  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  was  recognized  as 
Bahhazar.  The  body  of  Jacques  Colis  was  left  where  it  lay, 
the  headsman  was  led  a  prisoner  to  the  Hospice. 

The  party  was  detained  several  days  at  the  Hospice,  while 
news  of  the  murder  was  sent  to  the  authorities  of  Vevay,  in 
whose  jurisdiction  the  Hospice  then  stood.  The  bailifT  of 
Vevay  came  up  and  Balthazar  was  brought  to  trial.  The 
old  man  answered  with  frankness  the  questions  put  to  him, 
asserted  that  he  knewn  othing  of  Colis' s  movements,  and  ex- 
plained that  his  presence  on  the  mountain  was  due  solely  to  his 
love  for  his  daughter,  whom  he  hoped  to  see  again  at  the  Hospice. 
After  a  long  and  searching  examination,  he  was  remanded,  and 
Pippo  and  a  companion,  Conrad,  were  brought  in  and  closely 
questioned  as  to  their  movements  on  the  ascent,  but  nothing  was 
learned  from  them.  Lastly,  Maso  was  questioned  and  made 
to  tell  of  his  movements.  He  answered  all  interrogatories 
with  nonchalance,  but  when  asked  about  his  apparent  poverty, 
when  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  traveling  agent  between 
the  jewelers  of  Geneva  and  Italy,  Maso  called  Nettuno  to  him 
and  parting  his  shaggy  hair  drew  from  around  his  body  a  belt, 
which  he  opened,  displaying  a  glittering  necklace  set  with 
rubies  and  emeralds. 

"One  who  was  master  of  this,"  said  Maso,  "would  be  little 
likely  to  shed  blood  for  the  trifle  to  be  found  on  such  as  Jacques 
Colis." 

"What  contains  this  other  belt  I  find  under  the  hair  of  the 
dog?" 

Maso  either  felt  or  feigned  a  well-acted  surprise. 

"Signore,"  said  the  smuggler,  "by  my  patron  saint  and  the 
Virgin.  I  know  nothing  of  this  second  belt." 

The  belt  was  cut  open  and  out  of  it  were  taken  several  pieces 
of  jewelry  that  were  known  to  have  belonged  to  Jacques  Colis. 

"Wilt  thou  now  confess  thy  crime,  Tommaso  Santi,  ere  we 
proceed  to  extremities?" 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  249 

"That  I  have  long  been  at  variance  with  the  law,"  said 
Maso,  "is  true,  but  I  am  as  innocent  of  this  man's  death  as  the 
noble  Baron  de  Willading." 

"This  need  go  no  farther,"  said  the  bailiff.  "The  heads- 
man and  the  others  may  be  dismissed;  we  commit  the  Italian 
to  the  irons." 

Maso  appeared  to  have  a  violent  struggle  with  himself,  and 
then  said  calmly: 

"Doge  of  Genoa,  necessity  forces  me  to  speak — I  am 
Bartolo  Coniini!" 

A  groan  escaped  the  compressed  lips  of  the  Prince  as  he 
sank  into  a  seat  and  gazed  at  Maso,  with  eyes  that  appeared 
ready  to  burst  from  their  sockets. 

"Thou  Bartolommeo!"  he  uttered  huskily. 

"I  am  Bartolo,  Signore,  and  no  other.  Even  your  Highness 
travels  at  times  under  a  cloud." 

"Melchior,"  said  the  Doge,  "we  are  but  feeble  and  miser- 
able creatures  in  the  hand  of  one  who  looks  upon  the  proudest 
and  happiest  of  us,  as  we  look  upon  the  worm  that  crawls  the 
earth!  Here  is  Balthazar,  whom  the  dogs  are  ready  to  bay, 
the  father  of  this  gallant  youth ;  while  I,  the  last  of  a  line  that  is 
lost  in  the  obscurity  of  time,  am  accursed  with  a  brigand,  a 
murderer,  for  the  sole  prop  of  my  decaying  house — with  this 
//  Maladetto — for  a  son!" 

While  all  the  listeners  were  struck  with  astonishment,  Maso 
alone  was  unmoved,  discovering  none  of  that  sympathy  which 
even  a  life  like  his  ought  not  to  have  extinguished  in  the  heart 
of  a  child.  He  was  cold,  collected,  observant,  and  master  of  his 
smallest  action.  In  the  long  conversation  which  ensued,  he 
presented  proofs  which  the  Doge  could  not  ignore.  Baltha- 
zar, who  had  hstened  with  intense  interest,  at  last  said: 

"This  tale  of  Maso's  is  removing  a  cloud  that  has  lain  for 
nearly  thirty  years  before  my  eyes.  Is  it  true,  illustrious  Doge, 
that  a  son  of  your  noble  stock  was  stolen  through  the  enmity 
of  a  rival  ?  " 

"True — too  true!  Would  it  had  pleased  the  blessed 
Maria  to  call  his  spirit  to  heaven  ere  the  curse  befell  him  and 
me!" 

The  headsman  then  asked  many  questions  concerning  the 


250  THE   HEADSMAN 

time,  place,  and  circumstances,  many  of  which  were  answered 
by  the  baron,  who  was  conversant  with  the  details.  Balthazar 
listened  patiently  to  the  answers  until  all  his  doubts  were  ap- 
parently satisfied,  when  he  exclaimed:  "This  is  enough. 
Dismiss  your  grief,  princely  Doge,  and  i)repare  your  heart  for  a 
new-found  joy.  Sigismund,  a  child  that  might  gladden  the 
heart  of  any  parent,  though  he  were  an  emperor,  is  your  son!" 

This  extraordinary  declaration  stunned  and  confounded 
the  listeners. 

"This  is  so  wonderful!"  said  the  trembling  Doge,  "so  wildly 
improbable,  that,  though  my  soul  yearns  to  believe  it,  my 
reason  refuses  credence.  Balthazar,  it  must  be  proved.  And 
thou,  Sigismund,  come  close  to  my  heart,  noble  boy,  that  I 
may  bless  thee — that  I  may  feel  one  beat  of  a  father's  pulse — 
one  instant  of  a  father's  joy!" 

Balthazar  was  enabled  to  prove  his  words,  and  all  were 
made  happy  by  the  discovery.  As  to  Maso,  it  turned  out  that 
he  was  what  he  claimed  to  be,  a  son,  but  an  illegitimate  one, 
of  the  Doge  and  one  Annunziata  Altieri.  He  was  permitted 
to  go,  and  it  was  afterward  proved  that  Colis  was  murdered 
by  Pippo  and  Conrad,  who  had  hidden  the  jewels  found  on 
him  in  the  shaggy  hair  of  the  dog  in  order  to  convey  them 
undetected  over  the  frontiers  of  Piedmont. 


THE   MONIKINS   (1835) 

This  story,  a  satire  on  the  party  politics  of  the  day,  in  which  political  and 
social  questions  are  discussed  by  monkeys,  or  monikins,  was  the  subject  of  much 
adverse  comment  in  the  newspapers  of  the  time,  but  contains  little  to  interest 
the  reader  of  the  present.  In  the  introduction  the  author  pretends  that  the 
manuscript  was  sent  to  him  at  Geneva,  Switzerland,  together  with  a  diamond 
ring,  by  Lord  Householder,  requesting  him  to  wear  the  latter  as  a  memorial  of 
Lady  Householder,  whose  life  he  had  saved  in  the  Alps,  and  to  publish  the  story 
in  America,  which,  he  said,  was  far  enough  from  his  place  of  residence  to  save 
him  from  ridicule.  "All  I  ask  is,"  wrote  his  lordship,  "that  you  will  have  the 
book  fairly  printed,  and  that  you  will  send  one  copy  to  my  address.  House- 
holder Hail,  Dorsetshire,  England,  and  another  to  Captain  Noah  Poke,  Stoning- 
ton,  Connecticut,  in  your  own  country." 

>Y  ancestor  in  the  male  line  was  found,  when  two 
years  old,  crying  with  cold  and  hunger,  in  the 
parish  of  St.  Giles,  Westminster,  and  in  the 
United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland. 
An  orange-woman  had  pity  on  his  sufferings, 
fed  him,  and  then  turned  him  over  to  the  parish 
officer.  But  before  doing  this,  she  took  a  hint 
from  the  sign  of  a  butcher  opposite  whose  door 
he  was  found,  and  cleverly  gave  him  the  name  of 
Thomas  Goldencalf.  When  of  the  proper  age,  he  was  bound 
apprentice  to  a  trader  in  fancy  articles,  or  a  shopkeeper  who 
dealt  in  objects  usually  purchased  by  those  who  do  not  well 
know  what  to  do  with  their  money.  This  personage,  who 
came  in  time  to  be  my  maternal  grandfather,  was  one  of  those 
wary  traders  who  encourage  others  in  their  follies  with  a  view 
to  his  own  advantage,  and  his  experience  of  fifty  years  had 
rendered  him  so  expert  that  he  seldom  failed  to  find  himself 
rewarded  for  his  enterprise. 

My  ancestor  was  thirty  years  old  when  his  master,  who 
like  himself  was  a  bachelor,  introduced  a  new  inmate  into  his 
frugal  abode  in  the  person  of  an  infant  female  child,  thrown 
upon  his  care,  like  Tom  himself,  through  the  vigilance  of  the 
parish  officers.     Whatever  may  have  been  the  real  opinion  of 

251 


252  THE    MONIKINS 

the  reputed  father  touching  his  right  to  the  honor  of  that  re- 
spected title,  he  soon  became  strongly  attached  to  the  little 
girl.  \\'hen  she  had  reached  her  third  year,  the  fancy  dealer 
took  smallpox  from  his  little  pet,  and  died  ten  days  later. 

By  his  master's  will,  my  ancestor,  then  in  his  thirty-fifth 
year,  was  left  the  good  will  of  the  shop,  the  command  of  all  the 
stock  at  cost,  and  the  sole  executorship  of  the  estate.  He  was  al- 
so entrusted  with  the  guardianship  of  little  Betsey,  to  whom 
was  devised  every  farthing  of  the  property.  My  worthy  an- 
cestor executed  his  trust  with  scrupulous  fidehty :  Betsey  was 
properly  educated,  her  health  was  carefully  watched  over,  her 
morals  superintended  by  a  superannuated  old  maid,  her  per- 
son jealously  protected  against  the  designs  of  greedy  fortune- 
hunters,  and  when  she  reached  her  nineteenth  year  she  was 
legally  married  to  the  person  whom  he  believed  to  be  the  most 
unexceptionable  man  of  his  acquaintance — to  himself  in  fact. 

I  was  the  fifth  of  the  children  who  were  the  fruit  of  this  union, 
and  the  only  survivor.  My  poor  mother  died  at  my  birth. 
Through  her  my  father  became  possessed  of  some  four  hundred 
thousand  pounds,  chiefly  invested  in  good  bonds  and  mort- 
gages. My  father  now  changed  the  tactics  of  his  former  master, 
called  in  all  his  outstanding  debts,  and  entrusted  his  whole 
fortune  to  the  country,  entering  the  arena  of  patriotic  specula- 
tion as  a  bull.  Success  crowned  his  efforts;  gold  rolled  in  upon 
him  like  water  in  a  flood,  and  all  his  former  views  of  life  were 
completely  obscured  by  the  sublimer  and  broader  prospect 
spread  before  him. 

My  mother's  dying  request  was  that  my  education  should 
be  entrusted  to  the  care  of  Dr.  Etherington,  her  rector;  and  in 
compliance  with  this  I  was  sent  to  him  at  once.  Dr.  Ethering- 
ton was  both  a  pious  man  and  a  gentleman,  so  he  fulfilled  his 
trust  scrupulously.  I  was  baptized,  nursed,  breeched,  schooled, 
horsed,  confirmed,  sent  to  the  university,  and  graduated,  much 
as  befalls  all  gentlemen  of  the  Established  Church  in  the  United 
Kingdoms  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  In  all  this  time  I 
saw  little  of  my  father.  He  paid  my  bills,  furnished  me  with 
pocket-money,  and  professed  an  intention  to  let  me  travel 
after  I  should  reach  my  majority. 

Anna  Etherington,  Dr.  Etherington's  only  daughter,  was 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  253 

my  constant  companion  while  at  the  rectory.  Three  years 
my  junior,  between  the  ages  of  seven  and  twelve  I  dragged  her 
about  in  a  garden  chair  or  pushed  her  in  a  swing;  from  twelve 
to  fourteen  I  told  her  stories;  and  at  fourteen  I  began  to  pick  up 
her  pocket-handkerchief,  hunt  for  her  thimble,  accompany  her 
in  duets  and  read  poetry  to  her.  About  the  age  of  seventeen 
I  began  to  compare  Anna  with  other  girls  of  my  acquaintance, 
and  the  comparison  was  generally  much  in  her  favor. 

The  day  I  became  of  age  my  father  settled  on  me  an  allow- 
ance of  a  thousand  a  year.  To  me  Anna  became  daily  more 
beautiful,  and  I  said  to  her:  "Could  I  find  one,  Anna,  as  gentle, 
as  good,  as  beautiful,  and  as  wise  as  you  are,  who  would  con- 
sent to  be  mine,  I  would  not  hesitate  to  marry;  but,  unhappily, 
I  am  not  the  grandson  of  a  baronet,  and  your  father  expects 
to  unite  you  to  one  who  can  at  least  show  that  the  '  bloody  hand  ' 
has  once  been  borne  on  his  shield;  and  on  the  other  side,  my 
father  talks  of  nothing  but  millions.  So  you  see,  dear  Anna, 
that  our  parents  hold  very  different  opinions  on  a  very  grave 
question,  and  between  natural  affection  and  acquired  venera- 
tion I  scarcely  know  how  to  choose." 

As  usual,  Anna  heard  me  in  silence;  but  the  very  next  day 
young  Sir  Harry  Griffin  offered  in  form,  and  was  very  decidedly 
refused.  A  few  days  later  I  was  summoned  to  my  dying  fa- 
ther's and  when  his  will  was  read  I  found  myself,  if  not  the  rich- 
est, yet  certainly  one  of  the  richest  subjects  in  Europe.  With- 
out a  solitary  claim  on  either  my  time  or  my  estate,  I  was  in 
the  enjoyment  of  an  income  that  materially  exceeded  the 
revenues  of  many  reigning  princes. 

Within  a  month  after  my  father's  death  I  became  the  owner 
of  the  estate  of  Householder  and  of  the  political  consciences 
of  its  tenantry;  and,  as  a  consequence  of  my  aiding  the  re- 
turn to  Parliament  of  Lord  Pledge,  one  of  the  members,  I  was 
soon  after  raised,  through  his  influence,  to  the  dignity  of  a  bar- 
onet. The  following  day  I  took  leave  of  Dr.  Etherington  and 
his  daughter,  with  the  avowed  intention  of  traveling  for  a 
year  or  two.  "At  my  age,  Anna,"  I  said  in  bidding  her  fare- 
well, "and  with  my  means,  it  would  be  unbecoming  to  remain  at 
home  when  human  nature  is  abroad.  I  go  to  quicken  my 
sympathies,  to  open  my  heart  to  my  kind." 


254  THE    MONIKINS 

My  father  had  concentrated  his  investments  in  the  national 
debt;  I  intended  to  follow  a  different  policy.  He  had  fallen 
into  the  error  of  contraction;  I  resolved  to  expand — in  short, 
to  carry  out  the  principle  of  the  social  stake  in  such  a  way  as 
should  cause  me  to  love  all  things  and  to  become  worthy  of 
being  entrusted  with  the  care  of  all  things.  To  this  end  I  made 
purchases  of  estates  in  England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  and  Wales. 
I  extended  my  system  also  to  the  colonies:  I  had  East  India 
shares,  a  running  ship,  Canada  land,  a  plantation  in  Jamaica, 
sheep  at  the  Cape  and  at  New  South  Wales,  an  indigo  concern 
at  Bengal,  and  a  shipping  house  for  the  general  supply  to  our 
dependencies  of  beer,  bacon,  cheese,  and  ironmongery.  On 
tlic  Garonne  and  Xeres  I  bought  vineyards,  in  Germany  salt 
and  coal  mines,  and  in  South  America  invested  in  mines  of 
the  precious  metals.  In  Switzerland  I  manufactured  watches, 
in  Russia  dipped  into  tallow,  invested  in  silkworms  in  Lom- 
bardy,  olives  and  hats  in  Tuscany,  a  bath  in  Lucca,  and  a  mac- 
aroni establishment  at  Naples.  I  even  bought  a  sugar  and  a 
cotton  plantation  on  the  Mississippi, 

Wlicn  I  thus  found  my  hands  full  of  business,  the  earth 
assumed  new  glories  in  my  eyes.  With  stakes  in  half  the  socie- 
ties in  the  world,  I  now  felt  emancipated  from  selfishness,  and 
I  determined  to  quit  England  on  a  tour  of  philanthropical  in- 
spection. In  May,  1819,  I  found  myself  in  Paris.  While  there 
I  wrote  a  letter  to  Anna,  offering  her  my  hand  and  heart.  In  it 
I  said:  "Although  it  has  been  my  most  ardent  and  most  pre- 
dominant wish  to  open  my  heart  to  the  whole  species,  yet, 
Anna,  I  fear  I  have  loved  thee  alone.  Absence,  so  far  from  ex- 
panding, appears  to  contract  my  affections,  too  many  of  which 
center  in  thy  sweet  form  and  excellent  virtues.  I  begin  to 
think  that  matrimony  alone  can  leave  me  master  of  sufficient 
freedom  of  thought  and  action  to  turn  the  attention  I  owe  to 
the  rest  of  the  human  race." 

If  there  was  ever  a  happy  fellow  on  earth,  it  was  myself  when 
this  letter  was  despatched.  Let  what  might  happen,  I  was  sure 
of  Anna.  A  week  flew  by  in  delightful  anticipations,  when  I 
received  from  Anna  a  letter  declining  for  the  present  my  offer. 
"Do  not  stay  thy  eagle  flight,"  she  wrote,  "at  the  instant  thou 
art  soaring  so  near  the  sun!     Should  we  both  judge  it  for  our 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  255 

mutual  happiness,  I  can  become  thy  wife  at  a  future  day. 
In  the  mean  time  I  will  endeavor  to  prepare  myself  to  be  the 
companion  of  a  philanthropist  by  practising  on  thy  theory,  and, 
by  expanding  my  own  affections,  render  myself  worthy  to  be 
the  wife  of  one  who  has  so  large  a  stake  in  society,  and  who  loves 
so  many  and  so  truly. 

"P.S. — You  may  perceive  that  I  am  in  a  state  of  improve- 
ment, for  I  have  just  refused  the  hand  of  Lord  M'Dee,  because  I 
found  I  loved  all  his  neighbors  quite  as  well  as  I  loved  the 
young  peer  himself." 

Ten  thousand  furies  took  possession  of  my  soul,  in  the  shape 
of  so  many  demons  of  jealousy.  Anna  extending  her  affections! 
Anna  teaching  herself  to  love  more  than  one,  and  that  one  my- 
self! The  torment  of  such  a  picture  grew  intolerable,  and  I 
rushed  into  the  open  air  for  relief.  How  long  or  whither  I 
wandered  I  know  not,  but  on  the  following  day  I  found  my- 
self in  a  guinguctte,  or  small  eating-house,  near  the  base  of 
Montmartre,  devouring  a  roll  and  drinking  sour  wine,  together 
with  some  fifty  Frenchmen  of  all  classes.  Among  them  was  a 
large  man,  with  a  tanned  skin,  prominent  nose,  small  fiery 
gray  eyes,  and  ropy  black  hair,  who  gave  me  a  nod  of  friendly 
recognition  when  our  eyes  met. 

"Did  mortal  man  ever  hsten  to  such  fools,  Captain?" 

"Really,  I  did  not  attend  to  what  was  said,"  I  replied. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  understand  a  word  they  are  saying; 
but  it  sounds  like  nonsense." 

Perceiving  that  my  companion  was  a  reflecting  being,  I 
proposed  a  walk  where  we  could  talk  free  from  such  a  disturb- 
ance. I  soon  gathered  from  him  that  he  was  a  mariner  cast 
ashore  by  one  of  the  accidents  of  his  calling,  that  his  name  was 
Noah  Poke,  and  that  he  was  a  native  of  Stonington,  or  Stunin'- 
tun  as  he  called  it,  in  the  State  of  Connecticut,  in  New  England. 
He  had  been  captain  of  the  schooner  Debby  and  Dolly,  wrecked 
on  the  northeast  coast  of  Russia,  where  he  had  been  trading  in 
furs,  and  he  was  now  penniless  and  looking  for  a  job. 

I  had  certain  investments  in  the  pearl  and  whale  fisheries, 
but  my  relations  with  the  portion  of  mankind  inhabiting  the 
islands  of  the  Pacific  being  somewhat  unsatisfactory,  I  proposed 
to  him  to  expand  my  interests  in  that  direction.     After  a  brief 


256  THE    MONIKINS 

explanation  Captain  Poke  accepted  my  terms,  and  wc  started 
for  ni)-  hotel  together.  As  we  passed  along  the  Champs  £lys&s 
our  attention  was  attracted  by  a  group  of  six  individuals,  two 
of  which  were  animals  of  the  genus  homo,  and  the  other  four 
monkeys.  The  men  were  Savoyards,  unwashed,  unkempt,  and 
ragged ;  the  monkeys,  two  of  whom  wxtc  males  and  two  females, 
v.'ere  all  habited  with  more  or  less  of  the  ordinary  attire  of 
modem  European  civilization,  but  particular  care  had  been 
taken  with  the  toilet  of  the  senior  of  the  two  males.  This  one 
had  on  a  hussar  uniform  with  a  Spanish  hat  decorated  with 
feathers,  a  white  cockade,  and  a  wooden  sword.  While  the 
Savoyards  made  their  captives  perform  various  saltatory 
antics  as  we  looked  on,  I  observed  that  the  hussar,  while  obedient 
to  the  whip  of  his  master,  preserved  an  indomitable  gravity. 
His  look  was  rarely  averted  from  my  face,  and  in  this  way  a 
silent  communion  was  soon  established  between  us. 

Captain  Poke  agreed  with  me  that  there  was  great  injustice 
in  the  treatment  of  these  poor  creatures,  and  the  result  was  that 
I  opened  negotiations  with  the  Savoyards,  obtained  from  them 
the  right  of  ownership,  and  led  the  four  to  my  hotel.  Con- 
signing them  to  my  antechamber,  I  devoted  myself  until  a  late 
hour  to  my  correspondence,  and  then  "turned  in,"  to  use  a 
favorite  phrase  of  Captain  Poke.  My  thoughts  were  feverish, 
glowing,  and  restless.  When  sleep  tardily  arrived,  it  over- 
took me  at  the  very  moment  that  I  had  inwardly  vowed  to  for- 
get my  heartless  mistress,  and  to  devote  the  remainder  of  my 
life  to  the  promulgation  of  the  doctrine  of  the  expansion-super- 
human-generalized-affection-principle, to  the  utter  exclusion 
of  all  narrow  and  selfish  views,  and  in  which  I  resolved  to  as- 
sociate myself  with  Mr.  Poke,  as  with  one  who  had  seen  a  great 
deal  of  this  earth  and  its  inhabitants.  In  the  early  morning  I 
lay  in  delicious  repose,  when  my  reverie  was  arrested  by  low 
murmuring,  plaintive  voices,  at  no  great  distance  from  my  bed. 
Occasionally  a  word  reached  my  ear,  and  I  soon  became  cer- 
tain that  the  voices  came  from  the  antechamber,  the  door  of 
which  was  ajar.  Throwing  on  a  dressing-gown  I  peeped 
through  the  aperture  and  saw  that  my  guests,  the  four  monkeys, 
were  grouped  in  a  comer  engaged  in  a  very  animated  conversa- 
tion.    I  did  not  understand  their  language,  but  remembering 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  257 

that  French  is  a  medium  of  thought  among  all  polite  people, 
I  had  recourse  to  that  tongue. 

"Gentlemen  and  ladies,"  I  said,  "I  ask  a  thousand  par- 
dons for  this  intrusion;  but  overhearing  a  few  well-grounded 
complaints  touching  the  false  position  in  which  you  are  placed, 
I  have  ventured  to  approach,  with  no  other  desire  than  the 
wish  that  you  w^ould  make  me  the  repository  of  all  your  griefs,  in 
order,  if  possible,  that  they  may  be  repaired  as  soon  as  circum- 
stances shall  allow." 

Though  naturally  startled  at  my  unexpected  appearance, 
the  elder  of  the  two  gentlemen-monkeys  approached  me  and 
answered  me  in  as  good  French  as  is  usually  spoken  by  the 
traveled  Englishman. 

"Sir,  I  should  do  great  injustice  to  my  feelings,  and  to  the 
monikin  character  in  general,  were  I  to  neglect  to  express  the 
gratitude  I  feel.  Destitute,  houseless,  insulted  wanderers  and 
captives,  fortune  has  at  length  shed  a  ray  of  happiness  on  our 
miserable  condition.  In  my  own  name  and  in  that  of  this 
excellent  and  most  prudent  matron,  and  in  those  of  these  two 
noble  and  youthful  lovers,  I  thank  you.  Yes!  honorable  and 
humane  being  of  the  genus  homo,  species  Anglicus,  we  all  return 
our  most  tail-felt  acknowledgements  of  your  goodness!" 

This  introduction  of  the  four  monikins,  who  turned  out  to 
be  Lord  Chatterino  and  Lady  Chatterissa,  of  the  island  king- 
dom of  Leaphigh,  a  chaperon.  Mistress  Vigilance  Lynx,  and  a 
traveling  tutor,  Dr.  Reasono,  of  the  University  of  Leaphigh, 
was  followed  by  many  conversations  in  which  were  set  forth  the 
entire  poUtical  economy  of  the  Monikins,  whose  brains  were  in 
their  tails,  and  who,  in  their  own  estimation,  held  a  position  in 
the  animal  kingdom  superior  to  that  of  man.  Sir  John  Golden- 
calf,  though  not  agreeing  altogether  with  the  conclusions  of  his 
guests,  so  far  sympathized  with  them  as  to  fit  out  a  ship  to  return 
them  to  their  country  at  the  South  Pole.  In  this,  under  com- 
mand of  Captain  Poke,  they  visited  Leaphigh  and  the  neigh- 
boring country  of  Leaplow,  where  monikins  had  no  tails  and 
the  ruling  virtue  was  humility. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  voyage  Sir  John  detected  Captain 
Poke  in  cannibalism,  that  is,  in  eating  roast  monkey,  and  in  a 
struggle  to  make  him  disgorge  his  unholy  meal  the  Baronet  got 
A.  D.,  VOL.  V. — 17 


258  THE    MONIKINS 

the  worst  of  it  and  was  nearly  choked  into  unconsciousness.  A 
miracle  followed.  First  came  a  mist,  then  a  vertigo,  and  Sir 
John  awoke  to  find  hmself  in  his  apartment  in  the  Rue  Rivoli. 
The  Captain  disappeared  and  Dr.  Etherington  stood  at  his  bed- 
side. 

"Do  you  know  me.  Jack?"  he  asked. 

"Know  you,  dear  sir!     Why  should  I  not?" 

"And  do  you  forgive  me,  dear  boy,  for  the  unkind — the 
inconsiderate  letter?  Though  Anna  wrote,  it  was  at  my  dic- 
tation." 

I  passed  a  hand  over  my  brow,  and  had  dawnings  of  the 
truth. 

"Anna?" 

"Is  here — in  Paris — and  miserable — most  miserable — on 
your  account." 

"Let  me  fly  to  her;  dear  sir,  a  moment  is  an  age!" 

"To-morrow,  when  both  are  better  prepared,  you  shall 
meet." 

"Add  never  to  separate,  sir,  and  I  will  be  patient  as  a  lamb." 

"Never  to  separate.  Jack.  The  moment  we  think  you 
perfectly  restored,  she  shall  share  your  fortunes  for  the  remainder 
of  your  common  probation." 

Before  leaving  for  England,  I  gave  Captain  Poke,  who  had 
proved  a  good  nurse  during  my  fever,  the  means  of  fitting  a  new 
Debby  and  Dolly ,  and  had  my  monikin  guests  suitably  provided 
for  in  an  institution.  When  the  time  for  parting  with  the  old 
sealer  arrived,  he  grasped  my  hand  and  said : 

"You  are  going  to  marry  an  angel,  Sir  John." 

"How!  do  you  know  anything  of  Miss  Etherington?" 

"I  should  be  blind  as  an  old  bumboat  else.  During  our 
late  v'y'ge  I  saw  her  often." 

Shortly  after  our  return  home,  I  had  the  pleasure  to  deliver 
to  Anna  a  packet  which  came  by  special  messenger,  announc- 
ing that  I  was  raised  to  the  House  of  Peers  by  the  title  of  Viscount 
Householder. 

"I  owe  you  this,  Anna,"  I  said,  "as  some  acknowledgment 
for  your  faith  and  disinterestedness  in  the  affair  of  Lord  M'Dee." 


HOMEWARD  BOUND  AND  HOME  AS  FOUND  (1837) 

These  two  books  form  one  continuous  novel,  and  might  properly  be  called 
Eve  Effi7igham,  under  which  name,  indeed,  the  second  part  was  published  in 
England.  Cooper's  original  intention  was  to  make  the  work  a  study  of  American 
society;  and  so  he  began  the  story  with  the  return  of  an  American  family  long 
resident  in  Europe  to  their  home  in  New  York  City.  But,  as  he  says  in  the 
preface  to  Home-ward  Bound:  "As  a  vessel  was  introduced  in  the  first  chapter, 
the  cry  was  for  'more  ship,'  until  the  work  has  become  'all  ship';  it  actually 
closing  at,  or  near,  the  spot  where  it  was  originally  intended  it  should  commence." 
Home  as  Found,  the  continuation,  rather  than  the  sequel,  ol  Homeward  Bound, 
contains  few  incidents,  being  almost  wholly  composed  of  cynical  observations 
upon  American  social  customs  and  types  of  character.  In  order  to  retaliate  upon 
a  number  of  his  fellow  citizens  at  Cooperstown,  New  York,  who  had  endeavored 
to  force  him  to  make  a  gift  of  a  portion  of  his  estate  for  a  public  park,  and  had 
grossly  insulted  him  upon  his  refusal,  he  shifted  the  scene  from  New  York  City 
to  the  interior  town,  under  the  name  of  Templeton,  and  caricatured  the  most 
disagreeable  of  his  opponents.  The  public  inferred  that  Cooper  was  drawing 
his  own  character  in  that  of  John  Effingham,  and  from  this  time  forward  the 
name  of  Effingham  was  often  derisively  applied  to  him  in  the  many  controversies 
in  which  his  contentious  disposition  involved  him.  In  1842,  when  Cooper  was 
engaged  in  a  libel-suit,  he  was  satirized  in  an  anonymous  novel  entitled  The 
Effinghams;  or.  Home  as  I  Found  It,  by  the  Author  of  the  Victims  of  Chancery. 

VE  EFFINGHAM,  who  lost  her  mother  in 
infancy,  nevertheless  claimed  that  she  was 
spoiled  by  having  too  many  and  too  indulgent 
parents.  Her  old  nurse,  Nanny  Sidley,  mothered 
her  as  if  she  were  a  young  child  long  after  she 
had  become  a  brilliant  young  woman,  able  to 
speak  up  for  herself  in  several  European  lan- 
guages. One  day,  when  Miss  Effingham  had 
been  maintaining  an  animated  conversation  in 
Italian  with  her  teacher  and  companion,  Mademoiselle  An- 
toinette Viefvillc,  Nanny  burst  into  tears  and  implored  Eve 
not  to  estrange  herself  entirely  from  her  poor  old  nurse. 

Then  Eve's  father,  Edward  Effingham,  had  made  it  his 
chief  concern  in  life  to  take  the  place,  so  far  as  possible,  of  the 
dead  mother.  Love  had  taught  his  soul,  which  was  indeed  by 
nature  a  gentle  one,  an  insight  into  the  heart  of  a  girl  that  many 
mothers,  even,  do  not  possess — certainly  do  not  employ. 

259 


26o    HOMEWARD   BOUND   AND  HOME   AS  FOUND 

And,  last,  there  was  her  father's  cousin,  John  Effingham, 
who  was  a  second  father  to  her.  He  possessed  a  more  aggres- 
sive nature  than  her  father  and  therefore,  while  indulging  her 
in  material  things,  contended  with  her  manfully  as  an  intel- 
lectual equal,  greatly  to  the  benefit  of  her  mind  and  her  manners. 
At  an  age  when  young  girls  usually  have  their  heads  filled  with 
romantic  nonsense,  she  knew  men  so  well  that  she  could  recog- 
nize and  admire  the  best  of  them  without  adoring  any. 

Cousin  John  had  been  an  unsuccessful  suitor  for  the  hand 
of  her  mother,  and  upon  his  rejection,  being  a  man  of  inde- 
pendent fortune,  disappeared  for  a  number  of  years  from  the 
knowledge  of  his  friends.  On  learning  that  Mrs.  Effingham 
was  dead  he  returned,  and  thereafter  the  two  cousins,  united 
by  their  common  love  for  the  dead  woman  and  her  little  daughter, 
became  inseparable  companions. 

Edward  Effingham  lived  on  a  large  estate  upon  Lake  Otsego, 
in  central  New  York.  Since  the  days  when  Natty  Bumppo 
fished  in  the  crystal  waters  of  the  lake  and  hunted  in  the 
primeval  forest  along  its  shores,  civilization  had  made  great 
inroads  upon  the  locality.  A  little  town  had  arisen,  named 
Templeton,  seemingly  from  the  number  of  its  churches,  which 
lifted  their  unpainted  spires  to  heaven — about  two  to  every 
hundred  of  the  population.  Aristabulus  Bragg,  the  one 
lawyer  in  the  village,  was  wont  to  boast  to  those  contemplating 
settlement  in  Templeton:  " It  has  as  complete  a  set  of  churches 
as  any  village  in  the  State.  If  your  denomination  is  not  repre- 
sented, sir,  we  shall  begin  at  once  to  remedy  the  deficiency." 

"Set  of  casters,  rather,"  growled  John  Effingham,  one  of 
those  to  whom  the  remark  was  made;  "for  a  stronger  resem- 
blance to  vinegar-cruets  and  mustard-pots  than  is  borne  by  these 
architectural  prodigies,  eye  never  beheld." 

Edward  Effingham's  house  had  been  designed  by  a  local 
architect  named  Doolittle;  his  Cousin  John  took  hold  of  it  and 
converted  it  from  an  absurdly  proportioned  Gothic  edifice, 
shooting  with  bare  sides  up  to  four  crenelated  towers,  into  a 
rambling  picturesque  pile,  by  erecting  a  number  of  low,  irregu- 
larly shaped  buildings  against  it  and  about  it.  This  new  order 
of  architecture— "  Effingham  upon  Doolittle,"  as  the  remodeler 
called  it, — made  for  homely  comfort  as  well  as  sightliness,  and 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  261 

therefore  justified  the  unassuming  name  of  the  house — the 
"Wigwam."  It  was  furnished  with  every  convenience,  not  to 
say  luxury.  It  held  the  combined  libraries  of  the  two  cousins, 
both  book-lovers,  and  yet  possessed  of  complementary  tastes 
that  led  to  remarkably  few  duplications  of  volumes. 

But  books  and  the  companionship  of  men,  however  wise 
and  learned,  will  not  suffice  for  the  education  of  a  young  lady; 
so  when  Eve  reached  the  age  of  seventeen,  her  father  decided 
to  take  her  for  a  sojourn  of  several  years  in  Europe,  and  of  course 
Eve  compelled  "Cousin  John"  to  go  with  them. 

After  three  years  spent  in  France,  Italy,  Germany,  and 
England,  the  party  took  ship  at  London  for  New  York  on  the 
packet-liner  Montauk,  Captain  Truck  commanding.  The 
Montauk  was  a  stanch  and  comfortable  kettle-bottomed  vessel, 
and  Captain  Truck  was  the  oldest  and  most  trusted  navigator 
of  the  line.  In  the  three  days'  voyage  from  London  to  Ports- 
mouth, where  the  ship  stopped  to  take  on  the  rest  of  its  cabin 
passengers,  coming  by  train  from  London,  the  Captain  and  the 
Effinghams  had  become  the  best  of  friends. 

Arrived  at  Portsmouth,  the  party  stood  with  the  Captain 
on  deck,  commenting  upon  the  embarking  passengers  who  were 
to  be  their  companions  for  the  voyage  across  the  Atlantic,  which 
they  expected  would  be  of  not  more  than  a  month's  duration. 

A  young  man,  bewhiskered  and  flashily  dressed,  accom- 
panied by  several  porters  carrying  a  prodigious  number  of 
hat-boxes  and  portmanteaus,  was  the  first  to  step  on  board. 

"A  peer  of  the  realm  in  his  robes!"  whispered  Eve  in  mock 
tones  of  awe. 

"More  likely  a  valet  running  away  with  his  master's  ward- 
robe," growled  John  Effingham,  who  regarded  the  mere 
existence  of  a  fop  as  a  sort  of  personal  insult. 

Eve's  hyperbole  apparently  was  nearer  right  than  John's 
detraction,  for  the  Captain  informed  them  that  the  passenger 
was  booked  as  Sir  George  Templcmore. 

Two  passengers  followed,  whom  none  could  fail  to  recog- 
nize as  gentlemen,  each  accompanied  by  a  servant.  One, 
evidently  an  Englishman,  was  tall,  blond,  well  built,  handsome, 
— the  type  of  the  university  man.  "He  should  have  been  Sir 
George,"  said  Eve. 


262    HOMEWARD   BOUND   AND   HOME   AS   FOUND 

The  other  gentleman  was  sici  generis;  it  was  impossible  to 
assign  him  to  any  class  or  even  nationality.  Mademoiselle 
\'iefville  became  at  once  intensely  interested  in  the  problem  in 
personality  which  he  ])resented,  and  so  did  Eve,  even  though 
she  unconsciously  averted  her  eyes,  that  had  calmly  scrutinized 
his  predecessors,  when  his  face  suddenly  changed  its  expression 
from  the  thoughtful,  almost  melancholic,  to  the  radiantly 
friendly,  as  he  smiled  in  noticing  and  acloiowledging  the  interest 
in  him  of  the  party  on  the  deck. 

"A  Continental,"  said  Mademoiselle;  ''jamais  anglais. 
French,  I  hope,  but  probably  Swiss;  maybe  north  Italian. 
What  is  his  name  ?  "  she  inquired  of  the  Captain. 

"The  two  men  are  registered  as  Sharp  and  Blunt." 

"H'm!  rather  ominous,"  remarked  John  Effingham.  "It 
is  quite  probable  that  the  first  very  positive  name  is  to  be 
construed  in  the  comparative  degree,  and  that  the  second  is  a 
synonym  of  the  old  nom  de  guerre,  'Cash.'  Do  they  hunt 
together?"  he  inquired  of  Captain  Truck. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  said  the  Captain.  "Whether  or  not 
their  names  are  assumed,  they  are  not  card-sharpers,  for  I 
know  the  faces  of  all  of  that  gentry  who  work  the  Atlantic 
ferry,  and  these  men  are  strangers  to  me." 

"Do  persons,  then,  actually  travel  with  borrowed  names  in 
these  days?"  asked  Eve. 

"That  they  do,  and  with  borrowed  money,  too." 

"Please,  Capitaine,  find  out  w'ich  is  Monsieur  Sharp  an' 
w'ich  is  Monsieur  Blunt?"  requested  Mademoiselle  Viefville. 

The  Captain  stepped  forward  and  spoke  to  the  two  pas- 
sengers, and  the  Effingham  party  saw  him  introduce  them  to 
each  other.  He  then  brought  them  back  with  him  and  intro- 
duced them  to  the  Effinghams.  The  blond  Englishman  proved 
to  be  Mr.  Sharp,  the  other  Mr.  Blunt.  Wlien  the  Captain  saw 
the  passengers  bowing  formally  to  each  other  he  said : 

"Not  according  to  Vattel,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  A  nod  is 
like  setting  a  topgallant-sail  in  passing  a  ship  at  sea;  it  means 
nothing  at  all.  Shake  hands;  that  means  we're  all  friends  so 
long  as  we're  on  the  Montauk — how  much  longer,  you  may 
decide  afterwards." 

His  passengers  laughed,  and  all  cordially  shook  hands. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  263 

Just  before  the  vessel  loosed  from  the  pier,  Mr,  Grab,  the 
civil  officer  of  Portsmouth,  came  on  board  with  a  warrant  for 
the  arrest  of  a  steerage  passenger,  a  young  man  who  had 
married  a  young  lady  of  some  fortune  against  the  will  of  her 
uncle  and  guardian.  The  uncle  was  bringing  against  the 
bridegroom  an  action  for  debt.  The  young  man's  story  was 
known  pretty  well  among  his  fellow  passengers,  and  had  indeed 
reached  the  Captain's  ears.  It  was  that  the  guardian  had  been 
using  the  ward's  money  and  feared  that  he  might  be  called  upon 
for  an  accounting  by  her  husband. 

Captain  Truck  examined  the  warrant,  "Yes,  Robert  Davis 
is  on  board.     You  may  take  him." 

"I  don't  know  Davis  by  sight.  Kindly  point  him  out," 
said  Mr.  Grab.  By  this  time  all  the  passengers  were  observing 
the  colloquy. 

"I  never  introduce  steerage  passengers,"  said  the  Captain. 
"Take  your  man,  but  don't  delay  the  ship.  Throw  off  that 
rope  there!"  he  added,  addressing  a  sailor. 

"Call  Robert  Davis!"  cried  Mr.  Grab,  affecting  an  author- 
ity he  had  no  right  to  assume. 

"Robert  Davis!"  echoed  twenty  voices,  including  that  of 
the  bridegroom,  who  almost  betrayed  himself  by  excess  of  zeal. 

No  one  answered. 

"Can  you  tell  me  which  is  Robert  Davis,  my  little  fellow?" 
Mr.  Grab  asked  of  a  flaxen-haired  boy.  The  child  knew,  but 
shook  his  head. 

"Come,  here's  sixpence  if  you  tell  me."  The  boy  shook 
his  curls  again  and  walked  away  from  temptation. 

''C^est  un  esprit  de  corps  admirable!  ^^  exclaimed  Mademoi- 
selle Viefville.     "  I  -^ould  devour  that  boy." 

Mr.  Grab  scrutinized  the  passengers.  He  noted  the  pale 
self-conscious  face  of  a  woman,  and  asked  her  if  she  were  not 
Mrs.  Davis.  She  confessed  that  she  was,  "Point  out  your 
husband."  She  refused,  but  the  bridegroom  betrayed  himself 
to  everyone  who  was  not  in  the  secret  but  the  officer,  by  in- 
stinctively moving  as  if  to  go  to  her  rescue. 

"If  the  husband  will  not  deliver  himself  up,  I  shall  be  com- 
pelled to  take  his  wife  ashore  in  his  stead,"  said  Mr.  Grab,  with 
a  very  stern  look. 


264    HOMEWARD   BOUND   AND  HOME   AS   FOUND 

"Is  this  an  arrest  for  crime  or  a  demand  for  debt?"  asked 
IVIr.  Blunt  quickly,  to  forestall  the  husband  betraying  [himself. 

A  dozen  voices,  among  them  again  the  bridegroom's,  assured 
him  there  was  no  crime,  not  even  a  just  debt;  that  the  whole 
alTair  was  a  scheme  to  compel  a  wronged  ward  to  release  a 
fraudulent  guardian  from  his  liabilities. 

"Debt  or  crime,  it's  all  the  same  to  the  law,"  said  the 

officer. 

"But  not  the  same  to  honest  citizens,  who  ought  to  resist 
such  illegal  action  as  you  propose,  but  who  might  hesitate  to 
do  so  in  favor  of  a  rogue.  I  now  tell  you  you  are  disgracing  your 
uniform.  You  have  no  right  to  arrest  a  wife  for  a  husband, 
as  you  well  know,  as  do  I  and  all  here  "—and  the  crowd,  who 
had  not  known  it  before,  shouted  their  assent. 

"Clever  as  Mark  Antony!"  said  John  Effingham.  "Since 
it  is  not  possible  that  he  is  an  ancient  Roman,  you  may  depend 
upon  it  he's  a  Yankee  lawyer,  Mademoiselle  Viefville." 

I\Ir.  Grab  now  realized  he  had  met  his  match,  but  he  stood 
his  ground. 

"Whoever  interferes  with  an  officer  in  charge  of  a  prisoner 
is  guilty  of  a  rescue.  Mistakes  of  arrest  can  be  rectified  only  by 
a  magistrate." 

"  Not  the  arrest  of  a  woman  for  a  man.  In  such  a  case  there 
is  design,  and  not  a  mistake.  If  you  take  that  woman  from  the 
ship  you  do  it  at  your  peril." 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen!  let  there  be  no  warm  words," 
said  the  Captain.  "Be  friendly;  shake  hands.  Mr.  Blunt, 
Mr.  Grab;  Mr.  Grab,  Mr.  Blunt." 

Neither  adopted  the  suggestion. 

"I  always  introduce  my  cabin  passengers,  and  if  you  don't 
look  sharp,  Mr.  Grab,  you  will  go  as  one  with  us  to  New  York. 
It's  time  to  sail,  and  we  run  by  the  clock.  Lay  forward,  men, 
and  heave  away!"     And  he  sprang  to  the  wheel. 

Mr.  Grab  jumped  into  the  boat  of  the  waterman  who  had 
brought  him.  As  the  painter  was  cast  off,  the  Captain  re- 
linquished the  wheel  to  the  pilot,  and,  taking  Robert  Davis  by 
the  arm,  appeared  with  him  at  the  gangway. 

"Mr.  Grab,  Mr.  Davis;  Mr.  Davis,  Mr.  Grab.  I  never 
introduce  steerage  passengers,  but  I've  decided  to  put  Mr.  and 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  265 

Mrs.  Davis  in  the  bridal  room.     You  may  assure  Mrs.  Davis's 
uncle  that  she  shall  receive  every  attention." 

"You  have  not  heard  the  last  of  this,  Captain  Truck," 
answered  the  officer.  "It  will  be  an  easy  matter  for  one  of 
his  Majesty's  cruisers  to  overtake  your  piratical  old  tub." 

Captain  Truck  regarded  it  as  an  idle  threat;  but  when, 
two  days  afterw^ard,  a  sloop  of  war  was  observed  following 
the  Montank,  as  she  ran  merrily  along  in  the  English  Channel 
before  a  stiff  breeze,  the  Captain  thought  there  might  have  been 
something  in  it.  Once  before  he  had  been  overtaken  while  in 
EngHsh  waters,  and  brought  back  to  Portsmouth  because  a 
subordinate  had  been  smuggling  tobacco.  Possibly  in  revenge 
Mr.  Grab  had  laid  information  of  a  similar  charge  against  the 
Montauk.  If  so.  Captain  Truck  did  not  purpose  to  lose  time 
for  his  company  on  this  occasion  by  going  back,  if  he  could 
help  it,  preferring  to  settle  the  matter  on  his  return  trip. 

"We  are  now  on  the  highway  of  nations,"  said  Captain 
Truck,  "and  I  intend  to  travel  it  without  being  jostled.  The 
sloop  is  ten  miles  astern  of  us.  Now  'a  stem  chase  is  a  long 
chase.'  In  the  present  trim,  and  with  this  breeze,  there  is  no 
ship  in  the  British  navy  can  gain  ten  miles  in  as  many  hours 
on  the  Montauk,  clumsy  old  hulk  as  she  is.  We  are  safe,  then, 
for  the  present." 

By  night  the  sloop  had  not  gained  a  mile  upon  the  liner, 
but  as  the  wind  was  lessening  Captain  Truck  decided  to  give 
the  slip  to  his  pursuer,  if  pursuer  she  were,  by  running  in  the 
darkness  through  a  narrow  passage  between  the  Scilly  Islands 
and  the  Land's  End.  In  the  morning  he  found  the  sloop  still 
at  the  Montauk's  heels.  The  wind  had  shifted  more  to  the 
north,  and  freshened.  He  decided  to  run  before  it  southward 
into  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  and  thence,  having  shaken  off  pursuit, 
take  the  southern  route  to  New  York. 

Day  after  day,  however,  the  cruiser  persistently  followed. 
Luckily  the  breeze  continued,  but  the  liner  was  not  able  to 
gain  enough  distance  to  permit  it  to  make  ports  in  the  Azores 
or  Canaries.  The  breeze  developed  into  a  gale,  and  at  last 
into  a  terrible  hurricane  that  swept  off  all  the  rigging  from  the 
Montauk  but  the  foremast,  and  drove  her  dangerously  near 
the  Moroccan  coast  before  it  subsided.     They  lost  sight  of  the 


266    HOMEWARD   BOUND   AND   HOME   AS   FOUND 

English  ship,  whose  name  by  this  time  they  had  discovered 
was  the  Foam,  and  supposed  that  it  had  not  weathered  the  storm. 

An  American  store-ship  bound  to  New  York  from  the 
Mc(Hterranean  squadron  hove  in  sight.  The  steerage  pas- 
scn>aTS  and  the  Davises  were  transferred  to  this;  the  cabin 
passengers  preferred  the  comforts  of  the  crippled  vessel  to  the 
cramped  quarters  of  the  store-ship. 

Working  up  along  the  African  coast  the  Montauk  came  upon 
a  Danish  vessel  that  had  evidently  been  driven  ashore  in  the 
hurricane.  A  landing  party  discovered  signs  of  an  Arab  en- 
campment, which  indicated  that  the  Danish  sailors  had  been 
carried  into  captivity.  As  the  masts  of  the  abandoned  wreck 
were  intact.  Captain  Truck  decided  to  remove  them  and  set 
them  in  the  Montauk.  He  found  a  small  harbor  behind  a 
reef  near  the  wreck,  where  he  anchored  the  liner,  and,  leaving 
his  passengers  on  the  Montauk,  took  all  his  seamen  to  the  Dane 
to  dismantle  her. 

At  this  juncture  the  Arabs  returned  for  further  loot  in  the 
Dane.  Naturally  they  preferred  new  conquest,  and  so  at- 
tacked the  Montauk.  Blunt,  by  his  generalship  in  confining 
the  Arabs  to  a  quarter  of  the  deck,  which  he  commanded  with 
the  single  cannon  on  board,  and  by  his  diplomacy  in  revealing 
this  to  the  sheik,  and  treating  with  him  on  the  strength  of  it, 
disposed  of  the  invaders  at  the  cost  of  their  looting  one  portion  of 
the  ship,  which  included  the  room  of  Sir  George  Templemore. 

The  new  masts  were  stepped  in  place,  and  the  Montauk 
proceeded  without  further  mishaps  or  adventures  to  New  York. 
Off  Sandy  Hook,  the  crew  and  passengers  were  astonished  at 
coming  upon  their  old  pursuer,  the  Foam,  which  was  evidently 
lying  in  wait  for  them. 

The  Captain  of  the  sloop  of  war  came  on  board  the  Mon- 
tauk with  a  civilian.  Captain  Truck  began  introducing  them 
to  the  passengers.  When  he  came  to  the  gentleman  known  as 
Mr.  Sharp,  the  English  Captain  cried:  "George  Templemore, 
as  I'm  alive!  Then  it  wasn't  a  man  who  impersonated  you 
who  sailed  on  the  Montaiik,  after  all ! " 

"WTiat  do  you  mean,  Ducie?"  asked  Templemore,  wishing 
to  verify  his  ov^m  suspicions. 

"Why,  Mr.  Green  here  is  after  a  defaulter  who,  he  heard, 


JAMES   FENIMORE  COOPER  267 

was  running  off  to  New  York  under  your  name.  The  amount 
involved  is  twenty  thousand  pounds,  and  the  Admiral  detailed 
me  to  bring  him  back.  You  led  us  a  devil  of  a  chase,  and  it 
proved  to  be  a  wild-goose  one,  after  all." 

"I  think  not,  Captain  Ducie,"  said  Captain  Truck.  "The 
fellow  you  are  after  is,  out  of  question,  on  board  this  ship." 

The  false  Sir  George  Templemore  made  restitution  of  all 
the  stolen  money  that  remained,  which  was  within  a  thousand 
pounds.  Mr.  Green,  however,  was  relentless.  He  was  of  that 
order  of  Englishmen  who  cannot  realize  that  their  country  is 
not  supreme  in  every  comer  of  the  globe.  He  ordered  Captain 
Truck  to  return  the  defaulter's  passage-money.  Truck  re- 
fused this  preposterous  demand,  and  said:  "The  man  has  paid 
me  thirty-five  pounds  for  passage  to  New  York.  I  shall  land 
him  there,  and  deliver  the  money  to  the  company."  There- 
upon Mr.  Green  said  sneeringly:  "Undoubtedly  you  will  take 
him  to  New  York,  if  you  can,  for  the  sake  of  the  thousand 
pounds  he  has  yet  to  account  for." 

Captain  Truck,  angered  at  the  insult,  said  to  his  mate: 
"Mr.  Leach,  go  on  deck  and  send  down  through  the  skylight 
a  single  whip  that  we  may  whip  this  polite  personage  on  deck, 
and  rig  another  on  the  yard  to  send  him  into  his  boat  like  an 
anker  of  gin." 

Mr.  Green  returned  with  Captain  Ducie  to  the  Foam,  but 
not  in  such  an  imceremonious  manner  as  Captain  Truck  had 
ordered.  On  the  Montauk's  arri^'al  at  New  York,  it  was  found 
that  the  impostor  had  cut  his  throat  with  his  razor,  which 
implement,  together  with  all  of  his  effects  that  the  Arabs  had 
left  him,  was  thereupon  seized  by  the  inexorable  Mr.  Green. 

The  real  Sir  George  Templemore  explained  how  he  came 
to  take  the  name  of  Sharp.  "It  is  my  servant's  name.  Find- 
ing, to  my  surprise,  that  another  passenger  had  assumed  my 
own  name,  I  chose  this,  to  see  the  end  of  the  adventure." 

"Since  confessions  are  in  order,"  said  the  gentleman  known 
as  Mr.  Blunt,  "  I  would  say  that  I  recognized  Sir  George  Temple- 
more at  the  time  of  taking  passage,  and,  expecting  to  see  some 
sort  of  comedy  enacted  upon  the  voyage,  I  took  the  antithesis 
of  his  assumed  name  for  my  own.  I  am  Paul  Powis,  at  your 
service." 


268    HOMEWARD   BOUND   AND   HOME   AS   FOUND 

"Powis!"  cried  John  Efimgham  with  a  start.  "Not  the 
son  of  Francis  Powis  of  Charleston  ?  " 

"  I  am  his  adopted  son.  I  never  knew  my  real  father.  He 
left  my  mother  a  short  time  before  my  birth;  and,  upon  her 
death  shortly  afterward,  Mr.  Powis,  who  had  been  my  father's 
unsuccessful  rival  for  her  hand,  adopted  me.  My  father's 
name  was  Asshcton." 

"And  your  mother's  maiden  name?"  cried  John  Effingham, 
trembling  with  eagerness. 

"Warrcnder." 

"Then  I  am  your  father,  although  till  now  I  never  knew 
I  had  a  son.  When  I  was  a  young  man,  I  met  a  great  dis- 
appointment. I  hid  my  identity  under  the  name  of  Assheton, 
and  sought  an  entire  change  of  scene  in  the  South.  There  I 
met  Mildred  Warrender.  She  was  in  love  with  a  noble  young 
man,  Francis  Powis.  Miss  Warrender  was  a  very  attractive 
woman,  and,  in  my  bitter  frame  of  mind,  I  wickedly  exerted 
myself  to  fascinate  her.  I  succeeded.  I  did  not  truly  love 
her;  remorse  seized  me  after  our  marriage,  and,  making  pro- 
vision for  her  future,  I  abandoned  her.  I  did  not  know  or 
consider  that  she  might  bear  a  child,  and  nothing  was  said  of 
your  birth  in  the  account  that  I  received  of  her  death.  I  am 
a  wicked  old  man;  but  already  I  have  been  grievously  pun- 
ished.    Can  you  forgive  me,  Paul — my  son?" 

Already  the  two  men  had  been  greatly  drawn  to  each 
other,  and  the  fact  that  John  was  the  cousin  of  Eve,  between 
whom  and  Paul  a  tender  understanding  had  developed  during 
the  voyage,  made  the  revelation  of  his  fatherhood  the  most 
welcome  in  the  world. 

Paul  inherited  an  ample  fortune  from  his  adopted  father, 
and  therefore  had  taken  time  in  choosing  his  profession.  He 
studied  law,  art,  navigation,  and  other  diverse  subjects,  travel- 
ing a  great  deal  to  pursue  his  investigations.  He  was  now 
prepared  to  settle  down  to  one  congenial  vocation — that  of 
Eve  Effingham's  husband. 

Sir  George  Templemore  intended  to  go  with  the  party  to 
the  Wigwam  in  Templeton,  but  meeting  a  very  attractive 
cousin  of  Eve,  Miss  Grace  Van  Cortlandt,  in  New  York,  he 
remained  in  the  city  until  it  had  become  time  for  him  to  return 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  269 

home.  Then,  his  visit  not  yet  being  completed,  he  persuaded 
Miss  Van  Cortlandt  to  conchide  it  with  him  in  England — as 
Lady  Templemore. 

IMademoiselle  Viefville  found  much  in  Templeton  to  marvel 
at,  especially  that,  among  so  many  meeting-houses,  there 
should  not  be  one  eglise,  a  real  church.  "W'Tiat  shall  a  poor 
French  girl  do  who  wants  to  be  married?"  she  said  to  Aris- 
tabulus  Bragg,  the  lawyer  who  was  descanting  to  her  upon  the 
religious  conveniences  of  the  town.  He  seized  the  opportunity 
afforded  by  the  remark  to  say,  "If  it  is  me  you  will  marry, 
madeemoysell,  I'll  see  that  one  is  built  special  for  the  purpose." 

"O  Aristabule!"  she  exclaimed,  sinking  into  his  arms,  "it 
has  been  the  dream  of  my  life  to  marry  an  avocat" 


THE  PATHFINDER;    OR,  THE   INLAND   SEA  (1840) 

A  narrative  of  adventure  in  the  forests  on  the  southern  shore  of  Lake 
Ontario  and  on  the  waters  of  the  lake,  and  of  military  life  on  one  of  the  Thousand 
Islands  of  the  St.  I^awrence.  In  1808  Mr.  Cooper,  then  a  young  oflicer  in  the 
navy,  was  ordered  to  duty  on  the  great  lakes,  and  made  the  same  journey  as  that 
here  narrated,  across  the  country  to  Oswego,  with  a  party  of  messmates.  Fol- 
lowing the  order  of  events,  this  book  should  be  the  third  in  the  series  of  the 
Leather-Slocking  Tales.  In  The  Deerslayer  Natty  Bumppo  is  represented  as 
a  voulh,  just  beginning  his  forest  career  as  a  warrior  having  already  won 
celebrity  as  a  hunter.  In  The  Last  of  the  Mohicayis  he  appears  as  Hawkeye,  and 
is  present  at  the  death  of  young  Uncas.  In  the  present  tale  he  reappears  in  the 
same  war  of  1756,  in  company  with  his  Mohican  friend,  Chingachgook,  still 
in  the  vigor  of  manhood,  and  young  enough  to  appear  in  the  character  of  a 
lover.  The  account  of  the  fort  at  the  mouth  of  the  Oswego  River, .-;  point  coveted 
by  both  French  and  English  in  the  wars  between  the  two  peoples,  is  historical. 

-ABEL  DUNHAM,  daughter  of  Sergeant  Dun- 
ham, of  a  regiment  stationed  at  Oswego,  one  of 
the  westernmost  British  frontier  posts,  had  been 
sent  for  by  her  father,  and  was  journeying 
through  the  forest  in  company  with  her  uncle, 
Charles  Cap,  and  two  Tuscarora  Indians, 
Arrowhead  and  his  wife.  Dew-in- June.  Cap, 
a  thorough  seaman,  who  had  made  voyages  to 
many  parts  of  the  world,  was  incredulous  about 
any  great  inland  sea,  and  disposed  to  be  critical  of  fresh-water 
seamanship.  He  carried,  too,  a  pocket  compass,  which  he 
frequently  consulted,  affecting  to  despise  the  methods  of  the 
Indian  in  traversing  the  great  forest  without  such  aid. 

When  the  four  reached  the  Oswego  River,  they  were  met 
by  another  party  sent  from  the  fort  to  conduct  them  to  it.  This 
consisted  of  two  white  men  and  an  Indian,  the  last  a  Mohican 
named  Chingachgook,  or  the  Great  Serpent.  Of  the  whites, 
the  elder,  a  man  of  some  forty  years,  was  a  scout  known  to  the 
English  as  Pathfinder  and  to  the  Mohicans  as  Hawkeye,  but 
to  the  French  and  Indians  north  of  the  great  lakes  as  La  Longue 
Carabine,  from  the  length  of  his  rifle,  Killdeer,  and  the  accuracy 

270 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  271 

of  his  aim.  The  younger  was  a  fresh-water  sailor  named 
Jasper  Western,  called  by  the  French,  whose  tongue  he  spoke 
with  accuracy,  Eau-douce  (Fresh- water),  which  Cap  soon 
learned  to  make  into  Oh-the-deuce. 

Cap  and  his  party  had  traveled  from  Fort  Stanwix,  the  last 
military  station  on  the  JMohawk,  in  a  long  canoe,  into  which  all 
entered  to  drift  down  with  the  current  to  the  fort  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Oswego.  The  paddles  were  used  noiselessly  by  Path- 
finder and  Eau-douce  and  conversation  was  carried  on  in  lew 
tones,  for  there  were  rumors  of  Mingos,  as  the  Iroquois  were 
called  by  the  southern  Indians,  abroad  in  the  forest.  The 
rumors  were  true,  and  they  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  their 
savage  foes,  during  which  several  of  the  enemy  were  killed,  but 
the  entire  party,  with  the  exception  of  Arrowhead  and  Dew-in- 
June,  who  disappeared,  finally  reached  the  fort  in  safety,  where 
Mabel  was  received  with  open  arms  by  her  father. 

The  fort  at  Oswego  was  garrisoned  by  a  battalion  of  the 
55th  regiment,  originally  Scotch,  but  into  which  many  Ameri- 
cans had  been  received;  and  of  these,  Thomas  Dunham, 
Mabel's  father,  filled  the  responsible  office  of  the  oldest  ser- 
geant. He  and  Pathfinder  had  long  been  friends  and  had  done 
much  scouting  duty  together;  and  the  Sergeant  really  owed  his 
life  to  his  friend,  who  had  saved  him  when  badly  wounded  from 
being  scalped  by  the  savages.  His  affection  and  great  respect 
for  the  Pathfinder  had  induced  him  to  send  for  Mabel,  in  hope 
that  she  might  see  him  in  the  same  light  that  he  himself  did. 
Though  long  separated  from  his  daughter,  he  had  for  her  a 
strong  affection,  and  he  felt  that  he  could  not  entrust  her  happi- 
ness to  one  more  worthy,  notwithstanding  the  discrepancy  in 
their  respective  ages. 

Sergeant  Dunham,  of  a  tall  and  imposing  figure  and  grave 
disposition,  and  accurate  and  precise  in  his  acts  and  manner 
of  thinking,  received  more  true  respect  from  Duncan  of  Lundie, 
the  Scotch  laird  who  commanded  the  post,  than  most  of  the 
subalterns;  for  experience  and  tried  services  were  of  quite  as 
much  value  in  the  eyes  of  the  Major  as  iDirth  and  money.  No 
one  was  surprised,  then,  when  Major  Lundie  selected  him  to 
command  a  party  about  to  embark  to  relieve  a  post  among  the 
Thousand  Islands,  and  to  be  sent  thither  in  the  Scud,  a  vessel 


2y2  THE  PATHFINDER 

in  charge  of  Jasper  Eau-douce.  As  the  expedition  would  be 
gone  a  month,  the  sergeant  determined  to  take  Mabel  with  him. 
The  invitation  was  extended  to  Pathfinder  and  to  Cap,  the 
Sergeant  saying  that  the  trip  would  probably  interest  the  latter, 
as  one  accustomed  to  the  water. 

"Ay,  to  salt  water,  if  you  will,"  replied  Cap,  "but  not  to 
lake  water.  If  you  have  no  person  to  handle  that  bit  of  a 
cutter  for  you,  I  have  no  objection  to  ship  for  the  v'y'ge,  though 
I  shall  look  on  the  whole  affair  as  time  thrown  away;  for  I 
consider  it  an  imposition  to  call  sailing  about  this  pond  going 
to  sea." 

"  Jasper  is  every  way  able  to  manage  the  Scud,  Brother  Cap; 
and  in  that  light  I  cannot  say  that  we  have  need  of  your  ser- 
vices, though  we  shall  be  glad  of  your  company." 

Mabel  had  hardly  been  a  week  in  the  fort  before  she  found 
admirers  even  among  the  gentlemen,  and  she  was  soon  a  toast 
that  the  ensign  or  the  lieutenant  did  not  disdain  to  give.  Among 
her  admirers  was  Lieutenant  Muir,  the  Quartermaster,  a  Scots- 
man who  had  more  than  once  tried  the  blessings  of  matrimony, 
but  was  now  a  widower.  Muir  entrusted  his  feelings  for  Mabel 
to  his  commander  and  requested  him  to  use  his  influence  with 
Sergeant  Dunham  in  his  behalf.  When  Major  Lundie  sent  for 
the  Sergeant  to  give  him  his  final  instructions  concerning  the 
expedition,  he  mentioned  the  Quartermaster's  predilection  for 
Mabel,  whom  he  wished  to  make  his  wife. 

"She  is  much  honored,  sir,"  said  the  father  stiffly,  "but  I 
hope  to  see  her  the  wife  of  an  honest  man  before  many  weeks. 
I  thank  your  honor,  but  Mabel  is  betrothed  to  another." 

"The  devil  she  is!  And  may  I  ask,  Sergeant,  who  is  the 
lucky  man?" 

"The  Pathfinder,  your  honor." 

"Pathfinder!" 

"The  same,  Major  Duncan.  No  one  is  better  known  on 
this  frontier  than  my  honest,  brave,  and  true-hearted  friend." 

"All  that  is  true  enough;  but  is  he,  after  all,  the  sort  of 
person  to  make  a  girl  of  twenty  happy  ?  And  is  she  of  your  way 
of  thinking? — though  I  suppose  she  must  be,  as  you  say  she  is 
betrothed." 

"We  have  not  yet  conversed  on  the  matter,  your  honor, 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  273 

but  I  consider  her  mind  as  good  as  made  up,  and  I  trust  you  will 
be  kind  enough  to  say  that  the  girl  is  as  good  as  billeted  for  life." 

"Well,  well,  this  is  your  own  matter.  Now,  you  know  it  is 
my  intention  to  send  you  to  the  Thousand  Islands  for  the  next 
month.  Lieutenant  Muir  claims  his  right  to  the  command, 
but  as  he  is  quartermaster,  I  do  not  care  to  break  up  well- 
established  regulations.  You  must  go  to-morrow  night;  it 
will  be  wise  to  sail  in  the  dark." 

"So  Jasper  thinks,  Major  Duncan." 

"Jasper  Eau-douce!    Will  he  be  of  your  party.  Sergeant?" 

"Your  honor  will  remember  that  the  Scud  never  sails 
without  him." 

"  Why  not  put  your  brother-in-law  in  the  Scud  for  this  cruise, 
and  leave  Jasper  behind?" 

"  Jasper  is  too  brave  a  lad  to  be  turned  out  of  his  command 
without  a  reason,  Major  Duncan." 

"Quite  right.  Sergeant.  Eau-douce  must  retain  his  com- 
mand, on  second  thoughts.  Remember,  the  post  is  to  be 
destroyed  and  abandoned  when  your  command  is  withdrawn." 

When  the  Scud  was  ready  to  sail.  Major  Duncan  called 
Sergeant  Dunham  to  him  on  the  bastion  and  asked: 

"You  have  no  doubt  of  the  skill  of  this  Jasper  Eau-douce? 
He  has  a  French  name,  and  has  passed  much  of  his  boyhood  in 
the  French  colonies.     Has  he  French  blood  in  his  veins  ?  " 

"  Not  a  drop,  your  honor.  Jasper's  father  was  an  old 
comrade  of  my  own,  and  his  mother  came  of  a  loyal  family  in  this 
province." 

"Whence  did  he  get  his  French  name?  He  speaks  the 
language  of  the  Canadas,  too,  I  find." 

"  The  boy  took  early  to  the  water,  like  a  duck.  Your  honor 
knows  we  have  no  ports  on  Ontario,  and  he  naturally  passed 
most  of  his  time  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake,  where  the  French 
have  had  vessels  these  fifty  years.  He  got  his  name  there  from 
the  Indians  and  Canadians,  who  are  fond  of  calling  men  by 
their  qualities." 

"  He  behaved  well  when  I  gave  him  command  of  the  Scud; 
no  lad  could  have  conducted  himself  more  loyally." 

"  Or  more  bravely,  Major  Duncan.  I  am  sorry  to  see,  sir, 
that  you  have  doubts  of  Jasper's  fidelity." 

A.  D.,  VOL.  v.— 18 


274  THE   PATHFINDER 

"I  have  received  an  anonymous  communication,  Sergeant, 
advising  me  to  be  on  my  guard  against  him.  He  has  been 
bought  by  the  enemy,  it  alleges." 

"Letters  without  signatures,  sir,  are  scarcely  to  be  considered 
in  war." 

"Or  in  peace,  Dunham;  but  I  will  own  that  I  should  put 
more  faith  in  the  lad  if  he  did  not  speak  French.  It's  a  d — d 
lingo,  and  never  did  anyone  good — at  least  no  British  subject. 
Should  you  detect  Jasper  in  any  treachery,  iron  him  from  his 
head  to  his  heels,  and  send  him  here  in  his  own  cutter.  Make 
a  confidant  of  Pathfinder  at  once.  He  must  be  true.  Be 
vigilant,  Dunham!" 

As  soon  as  Sergeant  Dunham  boarded  the  Scud,  the  cutter 
put  to  sea.  The  Sergeant  took  an  early  opportunity  to  acquaint 
Pathfinder  with  Major  Duncan's  suspicions  in  regard  to 
Jasper,  and  to  assert  that  he  himself  had  a  sort  of  presentiment 
that  all  was  not  right. 

"I  know  nothing  of  presentiments.  Sergeant,"  replied 
Pathfinder,  "but  I  have  known  Jasper  Eau-douce  since  he  was 
a  boy,  and  I  have  as  much  faith  in  his  honesty  as  I  have  in  my 
own,  or  that  of  the  Sarpent  himself." 

The  Sergeant  then  called  Cap  into  the  council  and  explained 
to  him  the  nature  of  the  suspicions. 

"The  youngster  talks  French,  does  he?" 

"Better  than  common,  they  say,"  answered  the  Sergeant 
gravely. 

"It's  a  damnable  thing,"  said  Cap,  "for  a  youngster,  up 
here  on  this  bit  of  fresh  water,  to  talk  French.  I  hold  it  to  be 
a  most  suspicious  circumstance." 

"The  responsibility  rests  with  me  m  this  matter,"  said  the 
Sergeant,  "but  let  us  all  keep  watchful  eyes  about  us.  I  shall 
count  on  you,  Brother  Cap,  for  aid  in  managing  the  Scud^ 
should  I  have  to  arrest  Jasper." 

Shortly  afterward  a  canoe  was  sighted  about  a  hundred 
yards  ahead  on  the  lee  bow  of  the  cutter,  which,  though  paddling 
hard  to  get  to  the  windward,  was  seized  with  a  boat-hook,  and 
its  inmates  ordered  aboard.  To  the  astonishment  of  both 
Jasper  and  the  Pathfinder,  they  were  found  to  be  Arrowhead 
and   Dew-in- June.     Pathfinder,   who   alone   could   speak   his 


JAMES   FENIMORE  COOPER  275 

language,  questioned  the  Indian  closely  concerning  his  reason 
for  deserting  them  when  they  were  in  peril  from  the  Mingos, 
and  his  movements  after  that  time.  His  answers  were  all 
satisfactory,  but  it  was  thought  best  to  detain  the  two  till 
morning  and  to  submit  them  to  a  further  examination.  Appar- 
ently satisfied  with  this  arrangement,  Dew-in- June  was  per- 
mitted to  go  into  the  canoe,  which  was  towing  astern,  to  get  the 
blankets,  while  Arrowhead  was  ordered  to  hand  up  the  paddles. 
But  scarcely  had  he  stepped  into  it  when  one  blow  of  bis  knife 
severed  the  rope,  and  the  canoe  escaped  into  the  shadows. 

When  Sergeant  Dunham  and  Cap  deliberated  on  this  cir- 
cumstance, they  concluded  that  it  was  very  suspicious;  and 
the  Sergeant,  without  entering  into  any  explanations,  deprived 
Jasper  of  the  command  of  the  cutter,  and  put  it  in  charge  of 
his  brother-in-law.  As  Jasper  was  accustomed  to  obey  military 
orders  without  remark,  he  quietly  directed  his  little  crew  to 
take  further  orders  from  Cap;  and  he  and  his  assistant  went 
below. 

"  Now,  Sergeant,"  said  Cap,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself 
master  of  the  deck,  "  give  me  the  courses  and  the  distances,  that 
I  may  keep  her  head  right." 

"I  know  nothing  of  either,  Brother  Cap,"  replied  the 
Sergeant,  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"  But  you  can  muster  a  chart,  from  which  I  can  get  bearings 
and  distances." 

"I  do  not  think  Jasper  ever  had  any." 

"No  chart.  Sergeant  Dunham!" 

"Our  sailors  navigate  the  lake  without  any  aid  from  maps." 

"The  devil  they  do!  Do  you  suppose  that  I  can  find  one 
island  out  of  a  thousand  without  knowing  its  name  or  its  posi- 
tion?" 

"As  for  the  name,  Brother  Cap,  you  need  not  be  particular, 
for  not  one  of  the  thousand  has  a  name.  As  for  the  position, 
never  having  been  there,  I  can  tell  you  nothing.  Perhaps  one 
of  the  hands  on  deck  can  help  us." 

"Hold  on,  Sergeant.  If  I  am  to  command  this  craft,  it 
must  be  done  without  any  councils  of  war  with  the  cook  and 
the  cabin-boy.  If  I  sink,  I  sink;  but  I'll  go  down  ship-shape 
and  with  dignity." 


276  THE  PATHFINDER 

The  result  was  thai  Cap  navigated  the  cutter  the  rest  of  the 
nif'ht.  The  wind  gradually  rose  until  it  blew  a  gale,  which 
lasted  through  the  next  day  and  into  the  following  night,  when 
they  found  themselves  on  a  lee  shore.  The  hands  on  the  fore- 
castle told  Sergeant  Dunham  that  the  cutter  could  carry  no 
more  sail,  and  that  the  drift  was  so  great  that  she  must  inevi- 
tably go  ashore  in  an  hour  or  two.  In  this  extremity  the  Ser- 
geant called  for  Jasper,  who  calmly  announced,  as  he  observed 
the  situation,  that  unless  the  cutter  were  anchored  she  would 
be  ashore  before  two  hours  were  over. 

"You  do  not  mean  to  say,  Master  Oh-the-deuce,  you  would 
anchor  on  a  lee  shore  in  a  gale  of  wind ! " 

"If  I  would  save  my  vessel,  that  is  exactly  what  I  would  do, 
Master  Cap." 

"Whe-e-e-w!  fresh  water,  with  a  vengeance.  Harkee, 
young  man,  I'd  throw  my  ground-tackle  overboard,  before  I 
would  be  guilty  of  so  lubberly  an  act!  You  can  go  below  again, 
Master  Oh-the-deuce." 

Jasper  quietly  bowed  and  withdrew.  In  the  cabin  he  met 
Mabel,  who  anxiously  inquired  if  he  thought  the  cutter  in  any 
danger. 

"I  fear  so,"  replied  he.  "My  concern  for  you,  Mabel,  may 
make  me  more  cowardly  than  usual,  but  I  see  only  one  way  of 
saving  the  vessel,  and  that  your  uncle  refuses  to  take." 

"My  uncle's  obstinacy  must  be  overcome,"  cried  Mabel, 
blushing  as  she  caught  the  young  man's  ardent  gaze.  "Ask 
my  father  to  come  into  the  cabin." 

Mabel  hurriedly  acquainted  her  father  with  Jasper's 
opinion.  "Jasper  is  true,  father,"  she  earnestly  added.  "I 
will  pledge  my  hfe  for  his  truth." 

The  Sergeant  finally  yielded  to  his  daughter's  remonstrances, 
and,  notwithstanding  Cap's  protest,  permitted  Jasper  to  handle 
the  craft  in  his  own  way.  The  cutter  was  anchored  just  out- 
side the  breakers,  where  the  undertow  caused  her  to  ride 
securely  until  the  gale  abated;  and  early  the  next  morning  the 
party  was  landed  safely  at  the  station  on  one  of  the  many 
islands  of  the  St.  Lawrence. 

The  party  in  possession,  wearied  with  their  long  seclusion, 
were  eager  to  return  to  Oswego;  and  as  soon  as  the  ceremonies 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  277 

of  transferring  the  command  were  over  they  hurried  on  board 
the  Scud.  Jasper  would  gladly  have  passed  the  day  on  the 
island,  but  the  sergeant  in  charge  insisted  on  sailing  immedi- 
ately. Before  he  left  Lieutenant  MuLr,  Cap,  and  Sergeant 
Dunham  acquainted  him  with  the  suspicions  against  the 
young  sailor,  and  he  promised  to  use  due  caution  in  dealing 
with  him. 

The  island,  which  covered  about  twenty  acres  partly  wooded, 
was  so  hidden  among  many  other  islands,  with  intricate 
channels  between,  as  to  be  difficult  of  access.  Within  the  shelter 
of  its  copses,  so  as  to  be  invisible  from  the  water,  were  six  or 
eight  low  cabins  of  logs  used  as  quarters,  storehouses,  etc.; 
and  at  its  eastern  extremity,  on  the  narrow  neck  of  a  densely 
wooded  peninsula,  was  a  blockhouse,  about  forty  feet  high,  of 
massive  bullet-proof  timbers.  Though  concealed  on  the  water 
side,  the  view  was  open  from  the  upper  loops  toward  the  center 
of  the  island. 

Sergeant  Dunham  had  received  certain  orders,  which  he 
explained  to  Cap  and  Mabel  the  next  day: 

"I  must  leave  the  island  to-morrow  before  the  day  dawns, 
and  shall  take  the  two  largest  boats,  lea\'ing  you  the  other  and 
one  bark  canoe.  My  orders  are  to  go  into  the  channel  used  by 
the  French,  lie  in  wait  and  destroy  their  supply-boats  on  the  way 
to  Frontenac.  I  may  be  gone  a  week.  Corporal  McNab  will 
be  commanding  officer  of  the  few  men  I  shall  leave  behind,  and 
I  wish  you  to  sustain  him.  Brother  Cap,  against  any  pretensions 
of  Lieutenant  Muir,  who  also  will  stay  with  you," 

After  supper  the  Sergeant  had  a  long  and  confidential  talk 
with  his  daughter, 

"I  wish  I  had  seen  you  comfortably  married,  Mabel,  before 
we  left  Oswego.     My  mind  would  be  easier." 

"Married!    to  whom,  father?" 

"You  know  the  man  I  wish  you  to  love.  None  has  so  true 
a  heart  or  just  a  mind." 

"None,  father?" 

"I  know  of  none.  If  I  could  see  you  promised  to  Path- 
finder, I  could  die  happy.  But  I  will  ask  no  pledge  of  you, 
my  child.     Kiss  me,  Mabel,  and  go  to  your  bed." 

Had  Sergeant  Dunham  required  a  pledge  of  Mabel,  he 


278  THE   PATHFINDER 

would  have  met  with  resistance;  but  her  resolution  wavered 
when  she  thought  of  her  parent  and  his  affection  for  her,  and, 
as  she  kissed  him  good  night,  she  said : 

"Father,  I  will  marry  whomsoever  you  desire." 

"  God  bless  and  protect  you,  girl;  you  are  a  good  daughter." 

The  next  morning  the  island  seemed  deserted  when  Mabel 
took  a  walk  before  breakfast.  As  she  stood  among  the  bushes 
close  to  the  water,  she  was  startled  by  seeing  an  Indian  woman 
in  a  canoe,  and  the  next  moment  Dew-in-June  stood  by  her 
side.  Now  Mabel  had  learned  to  have  confidence  in  June 
during  their  brief  acquaintance  in  the  woods,  and  she  greeted 
her  cordially. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  June.  What  has  brought  you 
hither?" 

"June  friend,"  replied  the  Indian  woman. 

"I  hope  so — I  think  so,"  said  Mabel.  "If  June  has  any- 
thing to  tell  her  friend,  let  her  speak  plainly.    My  ears  are  open." 

"June  'fraid  Arrowhead  kill  her." 

"Then  say  no  more.     But  why  do  you  come?" 

"Arrowhead  wish  no  harm  to  handsome  paleface.  Block- 
house good  place  to  sleep — good  place  to  stay." 

Mabel's  fears  were  awakened  and  she  resumed  her  in- 
quiries. 

"Do  you  wish  to  see  my  father?" 

"No  here;  gone  away.  Only  so  many  redcoats  here." 
And  she  held  up  four  fingers. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  Pathfinder?  He  can  talk  to  you 
in  the  Iroquois  tongue." 

"Tongue  gone  wid  him,"  said  June,  laughing. 

"You  appear  to  know  all  about  us,  June.  But  I  hope  you 
love  me  well  enough  to  give  me  the  information  I  ought  to 
hear.  My  uncle  and  I  will  remember  your  conduct  when  we 
get  back  to  Oswego." 

"Maybe  never  get  back — who  know?  Remember — block- 
house good  for  girl." 

"I  understand  you,  June;   I  will  sleep  there  to-night." 

After  June  was  gone  Mabel  tried  to  persuade  Corporal 
McNab  to  take  possession  of  the  blockhouse,  but  he  saw  no 
reason  to  change  his  quarters,  which  he  considered  perfectly 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  279 

safe  for  the  present.  But  even  while  they  were  talking,  the 
crack  of  a  rifle  was  heard  and  he  fell  on  his  face  before  her. 

"Get  to  the  blockhouse  as  fast  as  you  can,"  whispered  the 
dying  man. 

Mabel  ran  to  the  blockhouse,  where  she  found  Jennie,  the 
wife  of  one  of  the  soldiers,  and  hastily  barred  the  door.  The 
crack  of  several  more  rifles  was  heard;  she  ran  up  to  one  of 
the  loops  to  look  out,  and  was  horror-stricken  to  see  all  three  of 
McNab's  soldiers  stretched  out  beside  him.  As  soon  as 
Jennie  became  aware  of  what  had  happened,  she  ran  out  and 
clasped  the  body  of  her  husband,  but  she  had  hardly  time  to 
utter  one  appalling  shriek,  when  the  war-whoop  arose  from 
the  coverts  of  the  island,  and  twenty  fierce  savages  rushed 
forward  to  secure  the  coveted  scalps.  Arrowhead  was  foremost, 
and  Mabel  saw  him  brain  and  scalp  Jennie.  During  all  this 
time  Muir  and  Cap  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Mabel,  hear- 
ing a  sound  below,  remembered  that  Jennie  had  left  the 
door  unbarred.  She  hastened  down  and  was  astonished  to 
see   June. 

"Blockhouse  good,"  said  June.     "Got  no  scalp." 

"Tell  me,  for  God's  sake,  June,  where  is  my  dear  uncle?" 

"Salt-water  no  here?  No  kill,  or  June  would  sec.  Hide 
away." 

The  next  morning  eight  or  ten  Indians,  with  a  French 
officer,  appeared  in  front  of  the  blockhouse,  bringing  Cap  and 
Lieutenant  Muir  as  prisoners.  Mabel  hardly  breathed  as 
she  watched  them  through  a  loophole.  After  a  brief  colloquy, 
in  which  the  Frenchman  and  Arrowhead  were  the  chief  speakers, 
the  Quartermaster  called  out: 

"Pretty  Mabel!  look  out  and  pity  our  condition.  We  are 
threatened  with  instant  death,  unless  you  open  the  door  to  the 
conquerors." 

"Speak  to  me,  uncle,"  cried  Mabel,  "and  tell  me  what  I 
ought  to  do." 

"Thank  God!"  ejaculated  Cap.  "The  sound  of  your 
sweet  voice  lightens  my  heart;  but  I  know  not  how  to  advise 
you." 

"  But — is  your  life  in  danger — do  you  think  I  ought  to  open 
the  door?" 


28o  THE   PATHFINDER 

'*I  would  counsel  no  one  out  of  the  hands  of  these  devils 
to  unbar  anything  to  fall  into  them." 

"You'll  no  be  minding  what  your  uncle  says,"  put  in  Muir, 
"for  distress  is  unsettling  his  faculties." 

"I  shall  do  wiser  to  keep  within  the  blockhouse  until  the 
fate  of  the  island  is  settled,"  replied  Mabel. 

"No  leave  blockhouse,"  muttered  June,  who  stood  beside 
her.     "Blockhouse  got  no  scalp." 

The  party,  unable  to  persuade  her,  withdrew,  and  that 
night  Pathfinder  succeeded  in  eluding  the  savages  and  in 
reaching  the  blockhouse,  where  he  was  joyfully  admitted  by 
Mabel. 

"God  be  praised!"  exclaimed  Mabel.  "Oh,  Pathfinder, 
what  has  become  of  my  father  ?  " 

"The  Sergeant  is  safe  yet,  and  victorious,  though  no  one 
can  tell  what  will  be  the  end  of  it.  He  sent  me  and  the  Sarpent 
ahead  to  tell  you  how  matters  had  turned  out;  and  he  is  fol- 
lowing with  the  two  boats;  but  they  are  heavy  and  can't  arrive 
before  morning." 

"Pathfinder,"  said  Mabel  solemnly,  "you  have  professed 
love  for  me — a  wish  to  make  me  your  wife.  Save  my  father, 
and  I  can  worship  you.  Here  is  my  hand  as  a  solemn  pledge 
for  my  faith,  when  you  come  to  claim  it." 

"This  is  a  happiness  I  little  expected  this  night,  Mabel; 
but  we  are  in  God's  hands,  and  He  will  protect  us." 

Pathfinder  was  mistaken  in  regard  to  the  arrival  of  the 
boats.  They  came  in  during  the  night;  the  men  landed,  not 
suspecting  the  presence  of  an  enemy,  and  were  received  with 
a  heavy  discharge  of  rifles  and  the  war-whoop.  Then  all  was 
silent.  Later  that  night  Sergeant  Dunham  who  was  grievously 
wounded,  but  had  succeeded  in  hiding  from  the  savages,  was 
taken  into  the  blockhouse  by  Pathfinder,  and  tenderly  cared 
for  by  his  daughter.  Cap  also  eluded  his  captors  and  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  its  shelter.  He  was  in  time  to  aid  in  ex- 
tinguishing a  fire  which  the  Iroquois  had  built  against  the  block- 
house, by  the  light  of  which  Pathfinder's  unerring  rifle  had 
slain  two  of  the  besiegers.  This  ended  the  attack  and  both 
parties  waited  for  day. 

Morning  broke  with  a  stiff  southerly  wmd,  and  with  it  came 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  281 

Jasper  in  the  Scud,  with  Chingachgook  on  board.  Jasper  made 
the  circuit  of  the  island  and  knowing  the  depth  of  water  every- 
where, fearlessly  ran  in  and  swept  away  all  the  enemy's  boats. 
The  savages,  seeing  their  means  of  escape  cut  off,  rose  in  a 
body  and  opened  fire  on  the  cutter.  This  gave  Pathfinder  an 
opportunity  to  kill  one  and  Chingachgook  another.  Jasper 
then  opened  with  his  howitzer  and  raked  the  bushes  with  case- 
shot.  The  Iroquois  rose  like  a  bevy  of  quail,  losing  two  more 
men  by  the  rifles,  and  sought  new  covers;  but  their  leader, 
seeing  no  hope  of  escape,  sent  out  June  with  a  flag  of  truce, 
immediately  followed  by  Muir  and  a  French  ofliccr. 

Pathfinder  arranged  with  Captain  Sanglier  for  a  capitulation, 
by  the  terms  of  which  the  savages  were  to  surrender  their 
prisoners  and  all  their  arms,  and  to  embark  in  their  canoes  with 
only  a  single  paddle  for  each  boat.  Jasper  brought  back  the 
canoes  and,  as  soon  as  they  were  loaded,  towed  them  out  and 
set  them  adrift.  Captain  Sanglier,  having  papers  to  draw  up 
and  sign,  remained  with  Arrowhead  and  June.  Four  soldiers 
were  found  unhurt,  besides  Muir,  and  this  reenforcement  at 
once  put  Pathfinder  at  his  ease. 

Muir,  as  the  only  commissioned  officer  present,  at  once 
assumed  command,  to  which  Pathfinder  assented  so  far  as  the 
soldiers  of  the  55th  were  concerned;  but  when  he  ordered 
Jasper  under  arrest,  the  scout  thrust  aside  the  men  who  at- 
tempted to  bind  him,  saying:  "You  may  have  authority  over 
your  soldiers,  Muir,  but  you  have  none  over  Jasper  or  me." 

"If  I  must  speak  plainly.  Pathfinder,  I  must,"  replied  Aluir. 
"Captain  Sanglier  here  and  Arrowhead  have  both  informed 
me  that  this  unfortunate  boy  is  a  traitor," 

"Too  much  lie!"  said  Arrowhead,  striking  Muir  in  the 
breast. 

Muir,  his  face  livid  with  rage,  reached  for  a  gun,  but  Arrow- 
head, too  quick  for  him,  buried  a  knife  in  his  breast,  and  with 
a  yell  bounded  into  the  bushes.  The  whites  were  too  con- 
founded to  follow,  but  Chingachgook  started  in  pursuit. 

"Speak,  Monsieur,"  cried  Jasper,  ''am  I  the  traitor?" 

"Le  voiW^  answered  the  Frenchman  coolly,  pointing  to 
Muir's  body.  "Dat  is  our  agent;  ma  joi,  c'eiait  un  grand 
sceleral!" 


282  THE    PATHFINDER 

In  proof  of  his  words  he  thrust  his  hand  into  the  dead  man's 
pocket  and  drew  out  several  double-louis,  which  he  cast  in 
contempt  to  the  soldiers. 

When  Chingachgook  came  back,  Pathfinder  noted  that  he 
carried  a  fresh  scalp  at  his  girdle.  Now  that  Muir  was  dead, 
Sanglier  told  Pathfinder  how  the  Scotchman  had  acted  as  agent 
for  the  French  from  the  time  he  appeared  on  the  frontiers,  and 
had  himself  written  the  anonymous  letter  which  had  caused 
Jasper  to  be  suspected. 

Meanwhile  Sergeant  Dunham,  who  had  been  cared  for  in 
the  blockhouse  by  Mabel  and  Cap,  was  fast  approaching  his 
end.  WTien  all  were  gathered  around  his  pallet,  he  said  to  his 
daughter:   "Mabel,  I'm  quitting  you;  where  is  your  hand ? " 

"Here,  dearest  father — oh!   take  both." 

"Pathfinder,"  he  continued,  feeling  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  bed  and  grasping  Jasper's  hand  by  mistake,  "take  it — I 
leave  you  as  her  father.     Bless  you — bless  you  both — " 

As  soon  as  the  Sergeant  had  departed.  Pathfinder  took  the 
arm  of  Eau-douce  and  the  two  left  the  block  and  walked  away 
in  silence  to  the  opposite  shore  of  the  island.  It  is  impossible 
to  record  their  long  conference,  but  the  result  was  that  Mabel 
ultimately  became  the  bride  of  the  young  sailor,  and  Pathfinder 
returned  to  the  forest. 


MERCEDES    OF   CASTILE;    OR,   THE   VOYAGE   TO 
CATHAY  (1841) 

The  voyage  of  Columbus  in  search  of  Cathay,  the  name  given  by  Marco 
Polo,  a  Venetian  traveler  of  the  thirteenth  century,  to  a  region  in  eastern  Asia, 
supposed  to  be  northern  China,  furnishes  the  setting  for  this  story.  Columbus 
believed  that  he  could  reach  Cathay  as  well  as  other  eastern  countries  by  sailing 
westward,  being  firmly  convinced  of  the  rotundity  of  the  earth.  This  led  to  the 
discovery  of  America,  although  Columbus  died  in  the  belief  that  the  lands  he 
had  found  were  parts  of  India,  as  is  shown  in  his  designation  of  their  inhabitants 
as  Indians.  The  love-story  of  Mercedes  and  the  Conde  de  Llera  is  only  in- 
cidental. 


RAN  AD  A  had  fallen,  and  the  victorious  mon- 
archs,  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  had  come  out  in 
royal  magnificence  from  Santa  Fe  and  were 
preparing,  in  sight  of  the  towers  of  the  Alhambra, 
to  enter  the  city.  A  great  crowd — soldiers, 
priests,  monks,  and  citizens,  the  war  having 
had  the  character  of  a  crusade — were  gathered 
on  the  hills  to  witness  the  ceremony,  the  throng 
being  densest  around  the  person  of  the  Queen. 
Among  them  was  a  friar  who  was  respectfully  addressed  by  the 
grandees  as  Father  Pedro.  He  was  accompanied  by  a  youth 
of  an  air  so  superior  to  that  of  most  of  those  on  foot  as  to  attract 
general  attention.  Though  not  more  than  twenty,  his  mus- 
cular frame  and  sunbrowncd  cheeks  showed  that  he  was  ac- 
quainted with  exposure,  while  his  mien  and  bearing  were 
evidently  military.  It  was  noted  that  he  was  graciously  received 
by  the  Queen,  whose  hand  he  was  even  permitted  to  kiss,  a 
favor  bestowed  usually  only  on  those  illustrious  from  their 
birth. 

The  two  had  wandered  in  the  throng  for  some  time,  en- 
gaged in  earnest  conversation,  when  the  friar  suddenly  de- 
manded : 

"Dost  see  that  man,  Luis?" 

283 


284  MERCEDES   OF  CASTILE 

"By  my  veracity,  I  see  a  thousand,  Father.  Would  it  be 
indiscreet  to  ask  which  one?" 

"I  mean  yonder  person  of  high  and  commanding  stature,  in 
whom  gravity  and  dignity  are  mingled  with  an  air  of  poverty! 
He  is  better  clad  than  I  remember  ever  to  have  seen  him — 
yet  he  is  evidently  not  of  the  rich  or  noble." 

"I  perceive  him,  Father,  a  grave  and  reverend  man.  I  see 
nothing  extravagant  or  ill-placed  either  in  his  attire  or  in  his 
bearing.  He  hath  the  air  and  dress  of  a  superior  navigator  or 
pilot — of  one  accustomed  to  the  sea." 

"Thou  are  right,  Don  Luis,  for  such  is  his  calhng.  He 
cometh  of  Genoa,  and  his  name  is  Cristobal  Colon;  or,  as  they 
term  it  in  Italy,  Cristoforo  Colombo." 

"I  have  heard  of  an  admiral  of  that  name,  who  led  a  fleet 
into  the  far  East." 

"This  is  not  he,  but  one  of  humbler  habits,  though  possibly 
of  the  same  blood.  This  is  no  admiral,  though  he  would  fain 
become  one — ay,  even  a  king!" 

"  Thou  stirrcst  my  curiosity.  Father.  Who  and  what  is  he  ?  " 

"It  is  now  seven  years  since  this  man  came  among  us.  He 
pretends  that,  by  steering  into  the  ocean  westerly  a  great  dis- 
tance, he  can  reach  the  farther  Indies,  with  the  rich  island  of 
Cipango  and  the  kingdom  of  Cathay,  of  which  Marco  Polo 
tells." 

"By  St.  James!  the  man  must  be  short  of  his  wits!"  said 
Don  Luis.     "  How  could  this  be,  unless  the  earth  were  round  ?  " 

"That  hath  been  often  objected,  but  he  hath  ready  answers 
to  much  weightier  arguments." 

"What  weightier  can  be  found?  Our  own  eyes  tell  us  that 
the  earth  is  flat." 

"It  seemeth  so  to  the  eye,  but  this  Colon,  who  hath  voyaged 
much,  thinketh  otherwise.  He  contendeth  that  the  earth  is  a 
sphere,  and  that  by  sailmg  west  he  can  reach  points  already 
attained  by  journeying  east." 

"By  San  Lorenzo!  the  idea  is  a  bold  one.  I  would  fain 
speak  with  this  Colon.  I  will  go  tell  him  that  I  too  am  some- 
what of  a  navigator,  and  would  know  more  of  his  ideas." 

"And  in  what  manner  wilt  thou  open  the  acquaintance?" 

By  telling  him  that  I  am  Don  Luis  de  Bobadilla,  the  nephew 


JAMES   FENIMORE  COOPER  285 

of  the  Dona  Beatriz  of  Moya,  and  a  noble  of  one^of  the  best 
houses  of  Castile." 

"No,  no,  my  son;  that  may  do  with  most  map-sellers,  but 
it  will  have  no  effect  with  Colon.  Leave  the  mode  to  me,  and 
we  will  see  what  can  be  accomplished." 

Fray  Pedro  and  his  companion  threaded  their  way  through 
the  mass  of  spectators  until  they  came  near  enough  to  the 
Genoese  to  speak,  when  the  friar  stopped  and  waited  patiently 
to  catch  his  eye.  Don  Luis,  volatile  and  never  forgetful  of  his 
birth,  chafed  at  thus  dancing  attendance  on  a  mere  map-seller 
and  pilot;  but  presently  Columbus  observed  the  friar  and 
saluted  him  courteously.  After  a  brief  conversation  on  general 
topics,  Fray  Pedro  introduced  Don  Luis  as  a  kinsman  who  had 
heard  of  his  noble  projects,  and  was  burning  to  learn  more  from 
his  own  lips. 

"I  am  always  happy,"  said  Columbus  with  simphcity  and 
dignity,  "to  yield  to  the  praiseworthy  wishes  of  the  young  and 
adventurous,  and  will  cheerfully  communicate  all  your  friend 
may  desire  to  know.  But  Senor,  you  have  forgotten  to  give  me 
the  name  of  the  cavalier." 

"It  is  Don  Luis  de  Bobadilla,  whose  best  claim  to  your 
notice  is,  besides  his  adventurous  and  roving  spirit,  that  he 
may  call  your  honored  friend,  the  Marchioness  of  Moya,  his 
aunt." 

"Either  would  be  sufficient.  Father.  I  love  the  spirit  of 
adventure  in  the  youthful.  Then  I  esteem  Dona  Beatriz 
among  my  fastest  friends.  Her  kinsman  therefore  will  be 
certain  of  my  esteem  and  respect.  Don  Luis  hath  visited 
foreign  lands,  you  say,  Father,  and  hath  a  craving  for  the 
wonders  and  dangers  of  the  ocean  ?  " 

"Such  hath  been  either  his  merit  or  his  fault,  Senor.  Had 
he  listened  to  my  advice,  he  would  not  have  thrown  aside  his 
knightly  career  for  one  so  little  in  unison  with  his  training  and 
birth." 

"Nay,  Father,  you  treat  the  youth  with  unmerited  severity. 
He  who  passeth  a  life  on  the  ocean  cannot  be  said  to  pass  it 
in  either  an  ignoble  or  a  useless  manner." 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  elevation  on  the 
towers  of  the  Alhambra  of  the  great  silver  cross  and  the  banners 


286  MERCEDES   OF   CASTILE 

of  Castile  and  of  St.  James,  and  the  Te  Dciim  of  the  choirs 
opening  th'e  magnificent  rcHgious  and  martial  pageant;  but  it 
proved  the  beginning  of  an  acquaintance  that  ripened  into 
friendship  and  had  important  results. 

Among  the  throng  that  moved  through  the  scenes  of  almost 
magical  beauty  in  the  courts  of  the  Alhambra  was  Beatriz  de 
Bobadilla,  the  wife  of  Don  Andres  de  Cabrera,  but  generally 
known  as  the  Marchioness  of  Moya,  the  constant  and  con- 
fidential friend  of  the  Queen.  On  her  arm  leaned  lightly  a 
youthful  maiden,  Dona  Mercedes  de  Valverde,  one  of  the 
noblest  and  richest  heiresses  of  Castile,  her  relative,  ward,  and 
adopted  daughter.  On  the  other  side  of  the  noble  matron 
walked  Luis  de  Bobadilla. 

"This  is  a  marvel,  Luis,"  said  Dona  Beatriz,  "that  thou,  a 
rover  thyself,  shouldst  now  have  heard  for  the  first  time  of  this 
Colon!  He  has  been  soliciting  their  Highnesses  these  many 
years  for  their  royal  aid.  His  schemes,  too,  have  been  solemnly 
debated  at  Salamanca;  and  he  hath  not  been  without  believers 
at  the  court  itself." 

"Among  whom  is  Dona  Beatriz  de  Cabrera,"  said  Mercedes. 
"I  have  often  heard  her  Highness  declare  that  Colon  hath  no 
truer  friend  in  Castile." 

"Her  Highness  is  seldom  mistaken,  child.  I  do  uphold 
the  man  and  that  which  he  proposes.  Think  of  our  becoming 
acquainted  with  the  nations  of  the  other  side  of  the  earth,  and 
of  imparting  to  them  the  consolations  of  Holy  Church!" 

"Ay,  Senora  my  aunt,"  said  Luis,  laughing,  "and  of 
walking  in  their  company  with  our  heels  in  the  air  and  our  heads 
downward.  I  hope  this  Colon  hath  not  neglected  to  practise 
in  the  art,  for  it  will  need  time  to  gain  a  sure  foot  in  such  cir- 
cumstances." 

Mercedes  looked  serious  at  this  sally,  and  threw  at  him  a 
glance  which  he  felt  to  be  reproachful.  To  win  the  love  of 
his  aunt's  ward  was  the  young  man's  most  ardent  wish;  and 
under  the  influence  of  that  look  he  felt  it  necessary  to  try  to 
repair  the  wrong  he  had  done  himself. 

"The  Dona  Mercedes  is  of  the  discovering  party,  I  see. 
This  Colon  hath  had  more  success  with  the  dames  than  with 
the  nobles  of  Castile." 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER 


■zoi 


"Is  it  extraordinary,  Don  Luis,"  asked  the  pensive-looking 
girl,  "that  women  should  have  more  confidence  in  merit,  more 
generous  impulses,  more  zeal  for  God  than  men?" 

"It  must  be  even  so,  since  you  and  my  aunt  side  with  the 
navigator.  To  be  honest  with  you,  I  have  been  much  struck 
with  this  noble  idea;  and  if  Senor  Colon  doth  sail  in  quest  of 
Cathay  and  the  Indies,  I  shall  pray  their  Highnesses  to  let  me 
be  one  of  the  party," 

"If  thou  shouldst  really  go  on  this  expedition,"  said  Dona 
Beatriz,  with  grave  irony,  "there  will  be  at  least  one  human 
being  topsy-turvy,  in  case  you  should  reach  Cathay.  But  here 
comes  an  attendant — I  doubt  not  her  Highness  desires  my 
presence." 

Don  Luis  laughed,  and  Dona  Beatriz  smiled  as  she  kissed 
her  ward  and  left  the  room.  Luis  was  the  declared  suitor  and 
sworn  knight  of  Mercedes  de  Valverde;  but,  though  favored 
by  birth  and  fortune,  there  existed  serious  impediments  to  his 
success  in  the  scruples  of  Dona  Beatriz  herself,  Don  Luis, 
whose  mother  was  of  an  illustrious  French  family,  had  little  of 
the  Castilian  gravity  of  character;  and  by  many  his  animal 
spirits  were  mistaken  for  lightness  of  disposition  and  levity  of 
thought,  A  consciousness  that  he  was  so  viewed  at  home  had 
driven  him  abroad;  and  nothing  but  his  early  and  ever-in- 
creasing love  for  Mercedes  had  induced  him  to  return,  a  step 
he  had  taken  fortunately  in  time  to  aid  in  the  reduction  of 
Granada.  His  prowess  in  the  field  and  in  the  tourney  was  so 
marked  as  to  give  him  a  high  military  character,  and  he  had 
won  fame  by  unhorsing  Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  accounted  the  most 
expert  lance  in  Spain. 

Dona  Beatriz  was  absent  quite  two  hours  with  the  Queen, 
during  which  time  Luis  so  pressed  his  suit  that  Mercedes  prom- 
ised to  be  his  on  condition  of  his  attaching  himself  to  Columbus 
and  his  schemes,  and  thus  winning  glory  through  some  act  of 
renown  worthy  enough  to  justify  Dona  Beatriz  in  bestowing  on 
him  the  hand  of  her  ward. 

But  Columbus's  time  of  triumph  had  not  yet  come.  The 
Archbishop  of  Granada,  to  whom  the  wily  and  insincere  King 
Ferdinand  referred  the  scheme  of  the  Genoese,  affected  to  be 
scandalized  at  Columbus's  demand  of  the  titles  of  admiral  and 


288  MERCEDES   OF  CASTILE 

viceroy  with  reversion  to  his  descendants,  and  rejected  his  con- 
ditions. Columbus,  disheartened,  immediately  set  out  with  the 
avowed  determination  of  presenting  his  scheme  to  the  court  of 
France.  Don  Luis  accompanied  him  on  the  way,  and  in  part- 
ing said: 

"I  here  solemnly  vow  to  join  you  in  this  voyage,  on  due 
notice,  sail  from  whence  you  may,  in  whatever  bark  you  shall 
choose,  and  whenever  you  please.  In  doing  this,  I  trust,  first, 
to  serve  God  and  His  Church;  secondly,  to  visit  Cathay;  and 
lastly,  to  win  Dona  Mercedes  de  Valverde." 

The  leave-taking  of  the  two  was  warm,  the  navigator  de- 
parting with  a  glow  at  his  heart  as  he  witnessed  the  sincere  and 
honest  emotions  of  the  young  man,  and  Don  Luis  swelling  with 
indignation  at  the  unworthy  treatment  his  friend  had  received. 

But  Columbus  had  hardly  departed  on  his  way  to  the 
French  court  before  Queen  Isabella  began  to  fear  that  her 
counselors  had  been  precipitate  in  dismissing  his  claims. 
The  opposition  of  the  King,  who  declared  that  the  treasury 
was  empty,  had  had  great  influence  in  this;  but  now  the  thought 
that  some  foreign  country  might  reap  the  glory  which  ought  to 
be  Spain's,  added  to  the  intercession  of  the  friends  of  Columbus, 
induced  her  to  change  her  mind  and  recall  the  navigator. 

"If  the  royal  treasury  be  drained,"  she  exclaimed,  "my 
private  jewels  should  suffice  for  that  small  sum,  and  I  will 
freely  pledge  them  as  security  for  the  gold,  rather  than  let  this 
Colon  depart  without  putting  the  truth  of  his  theories  to  the 
proof.  The  result,  truly,  is  of  too  great  magnitude  to  admit 
of  further  discussion." 

Don  Luis  de  Bobadilla  was  hastily  sent  to  recall  Columbus, 
who  had  already  reached  the  pass  of  the  Bridge  of  Pinos. 

"This  is  unexpected,  Don  Luis,"  said  the  navigator. 
"What  meaneth  thy  return?" 

"  I  am  sent,  Senor,  by  Doha  Isabella,  my  gracious  mistress, 
to  urge  your  immediate  return." 

"I  cannot  forego  a  single  condition  already  offered." 

"It  is  not  expected,  Senor.  Our  generous  mistress  granteth 
all  you  ask,  and  hath  nobly  offered  to  pledge  her  private  jewels 
rather  than  that  the  enterprise  fail." 

Columbus,  deeply  touched  with  this  information,  covered 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  289 

his  face  for  a  moment,  as  if  ashamed  to  betray  his  weakness. 
When  he  at  last  looked  up,  his  countenance  was  radiant  with 
happiness,  as  he  signified  his  readiness  to  return  to  Santa  Fe. 

How  Columbus  was  received  with  honor  on  his  return  "and 
given  the  title  of  Almirante  or  Admiral,  how  a  fleet  of  three 
small  vessels  was  put  under  his  command  and  made  ready  for 
the  long  voyage,  and  how  he  finally  sailed  from  the  little  port 
of  Palos  on  the  second  day  of  August,  1492,  is  matter  of  his- 
tory. Columbus  himself  took  charge  of  the  Santa  Maria,  the 
largest  vessel,  which  had  a  round-house  on  her  quarter-deck, 
in  which  the  Admiral  and  his  secretary,  Don  Luis,  had  their 
berths.  Don  Luis  had  laid  aside  his  rank  on  taking  service 
under  the  Admiral  and  styled  himself  Pedro  de  Munos, 

The  little  fleet  sailed  first  to  the  Canary  Islands,  and  on  the 
sixth  day  of  September  steered  westward  into  the  unknown  sea. 
After  seventy  long  days,  in  which  the  crews  became  almost 
mutinous,  Columbus  saw  a  light  in  the  distance  one  night. 
Few  thought  of  sleeping,  and  next  morning  (Oct.  12,  1492)  a 
sailor  on  the  Pinta  first  saw  the  New  World.  The  land  dis- 
covered was  soon  recognized  as  an  island,  which  Columbus 
believed  to  be  an  outlying  part  of  the  Indies.  The  morning 
sun  disclosed  a  wooded  shore  with  many  people  running  along 
the  beach.  Columbus  anchored  his  little  fleet  and  prepared  to 
land  with  as  much  state  as  his  limited  means  allowed.  Attired 
in  scarlet  and  carrying  the  royal  standard,  he  proceeded  in 
advance,  followed  by  Martin  Alonzo  Pinzon,  commander  of 
the  Pinta,  and  Vicente  Yanez  Pinzon,  of  the  Nina,  with  banners 
bearing  the  cross  and  the  letters  F.  and  Y.,  for  Fernando  and 
Ysabel.  While  the  astonished  natives,  who  looked  upon  the 
ships  as  winged  messengers  from  heaven,  regarded  the  pageant 
with  wonder,  Columbus  gave  thanks  to  God  for  his  success  and 
took  possession  in  behalf  of  their  Majesties  of  Spain. 

Columbus  now  visited  other  islands,  among  them  Cuba 
and  Hayti.  In  the  latter  he  entertained  an  ambassador  of  the 
Great  Cacique,  whose  name  was  Guacanagari.  In  his  train 
was  a  young  chieftain  named  Mattinao,  with  whom  Luis 
formed  a  hasty  friendship;  and  he  asked  the  Admiral  to 
permit  him  to  return  with  the  ambassador,  hoping  thus  to 
acquire  some  knowledge  of  the  interior  of  the  island.  Columbus 
A.  D.,  VOL.  v.— 19 


290  MERCEDES   OF  CASTILE 

2;ave  his  consent  with  rehictance,  and  as  a  precaution  sent  with 
him  a  tried  sailor  named  Sancho  Mundo.  Luis  took  with  him 
only  his  trusty  sword  and  a  light  buckler,  but  Sancho  was 
armed  with  an  harquebus.  Mattinao's  canoe  followed  tlie 
coast  of  the  island  until  the  mouth  of  a  river  was  reached.  As 
they  entered  this  stream,  the  Indian  took  from  under  his 
cotton  robe  a  circlet  of  gold  and  placed  it  on  his  head;  from 
this  Luis  supposed  that  he  had  now  entered  within  a  territory 
that  acknowledged  his  will.  A  few  miles  up  the  river  they  came 
to  a  village  in  a  tropical  valley,  where  they  were  received  with 
eager  curiosity  and  profound  respect.  The  people  crowded 
around  the  strangers,  of  whom  Sancho  seemed  to  be  the 
favorite,  leaving  the  Count  de  Llera  to  the  care  of  Mattinao, 
who  made  a  sign  for  him  to  follow.  The  cacique  led  the  way 
to  a  cluster  of  dwellings  on  a  lovely  terrace,  occupying  a  hill- 
side commanding  a  view  of  the  ocean,  which  Luis  recognized 
as  a  sort  of  seraglio,  set  apart  for  the  wives  of  the  chieftain. 
After  simple  refreshments  had  been  served  in  one  of  these 
houses,  Mattinao  led  the  way  to  a  second  dwelling,  where, 
removing  a  curtain  ingeniously  made  of  seaweed,  he  entered 
an  inner  apartment.  It  had  but  a  single  occupant,  an  Indian 
maiden,  whom  the  cacique  introduced  with  a  single  word, 
"Ozema."  Luis  bowed  to  this  Indian  beauty  with  as  pro- 
found a  reverence  as  he  would  have  given  to  a  high-born 
damsel  of  Spain;  then,  with  one  long  look  of  admiration  on 
the  half-frightened  young  creature,  he  exclaimed  in  a  tone 
indicating  rapture  and  astonishment,  "Mercedes!" 

The  cacique,  evidently  mistaking  this  for  a  Spanish  term 
of  admiration,  repeated  it  as  well  as  he  could,  while  the  maiden, 
the  subject  of  this  wonder,  blushed,  laughed,  and  muttered  in 
her  soft,  musical  voice,  "Mercedes." 

This  exclamation  had  escaped  Luis  from  his  recognition  in 
the  form  and  face  of  this  Indian  beauty  of  a  decided  accidental 
resemblance  to  the  Mercedes  he  had  left  in  Spain,  so  long  the 
idol  of  his  heart.  There  were  of  course  marked  differences 
between  them,  but  the  general  likeness  was  so  strong  that  no 
person  familiar  with  the  face  of  the  one  could  fail  to  note  it 
on  meeting  with  the  other.  Luis  felt  a  sensation  like  pleasure 
when  he  discovered  that  Ozema  was  the  sister  and  not  the  wife 


JAMES   FENIMORE  COOPER  291 

of  Mattinao,  and  that  she  was  unmarried.  He  spent  several 
days  with  the  cacique,  who  showed  him  his  wives  and  children, 
and,  though  but  a  few  words  of  each  other's  language  were 
understood,  all  showed  an  interest  in  the  stranger  that  was  un- 
mistakable. 

One  day  Don  Luis  was  talking  with  Sancho,  his  sailor 
attendant,  who  had  remained  in  the  village,  when  a  cry  of 
terror  arose. 

"Hark!"  said  Luis,  "is  not  that  cry  'Caonabo'?" 

"The  same,  Seiior!  That  is  the  name  of  the  Carib  cacique, 
the  terror  of  these  tribes." 

"Thy  harquebus,  Sancho;  then  join  me  at  the  dwellings 
above.  The  wives  of  our  good  friend  must  be  defended,  at  all 
hazards." 

Sancho  ran  toward  the  town  to  get  his  harquebus,  and  Luis 
hastened  to  the  dwelling  of  Mattinao,  where  he  found  Ozema 
and  about  fifty  women,  most  of  whom  were  uttering  the  terrible 
name  of  "Caonabo."  Ozema  appeared  to  be  the  chief  object 
of  solicitude  and  all  urged  her  to  fly  lest  she  should  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  Carib  chief.  From  this  he  gathered  that  the 
seizure  of  the  cacique's  beautiful  sister  was  the  real  object  of 
the  sudden  attack.  The  family  of  Mattinao  disappeared  with 
the  coming  of  the  invaders,  but  Ozema,  who  seemed  to  rely 
on  Luis's  prowess  to  defend  her,  clung  to  him.  Luis  found  a 
position  favorable  for  defense,  and  placing  Ozema  behind  a 
fragment  of  fallen  rock,  awaited  the  onset.  The  Caribs, 
armed  with  bows  and  arrows,  war-clubs,  and  spears,  advanced 
toward  him.  Their  arrows,  warded  off  by  his  buckler,  did 
not  reach  him,  and  when  several  approached  with  clubs,  he 
severed  the  arm  of  one  and  the  head  of  another  with  his  keen 
blade,  causing  them  to  fall  back  in  astonishment.  Caonabo 
himself  now  prepared  for  a  fresh  assault,  when  the  report  of 
Sancho's  harquebus  was  heard  and  an  assailant  fell  dead. 
This,  which  seemed  a  bolt  from  heaven,  decided  the  day.  In 
two  minutes  not  a  Carib  was  in  sight.  None  of  Mattinao's 
followers  was  to  be  seen  in  any  direction,  and  Luis,  determined 
to  save  Ozema,  hastened  to  the  river  to  find  a  canoe.  Sancho 
followed  them  and  they  were  soon  on  their  way  down  the 
river.     On  reaching  the  sea  Sancho  rigged  a  small  sail,  and  an 


292  MERCEDES   OF  CASTILE 

hour  before  sunset  the  canoe  entered  the  bay  where  the  ships 
had  been  left.  To  Don  Luis's  astonishment  and  regret,  the 
Santa  Maria  lay  a  stranded  wreck  on  the  sands,  the  Pinta  had 
apparently  deserted,  and  the  Nina,  little  more  than  a  felucca, 
was  the  only  one  left  of  the  three  vessels.  The  Nina  being  too 
small  to  carry  all  away,  a  sort  of  fortress  was  constructed  on 
the  shore,  many  of  the  stores  transferred  to  it,  and  a  colony 
left  in  it,  while  the  remainder  prepared  to  return  to  Spain. 

Aleanwhile  Ozema  had  been  left  with  friends  ashore.  Luis 
had  seen  her  but  once,  and  then  had  found  her  sorrowing  and 
mute,  like  a  withered  flower.  One  evening  he  was  summoned 
by  Sancho  to  another  interview,  and  to  his  surprise  he  found 
jNIattinao  with  his  sister.  Ozema  appeared  no  longer  sorrow- 
ful, and  Luis  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  so  winning  and 
lovely.  The  secret  was  not  long  hidden.  Her  brother  had 
come  to  the  conclusion,  knowing  the  character  of  Caonabo, 
that  there  was  no  refuge  for  Ozema  but  in  flight.  As  the 
admiral  was  desirous  of  carrying  to  Spain  a  party  of  natives, 
and  had  already  persuaded  three  women,  one  of  whom  was  a 
kinswoman  of  Ozema' s,  to  go,  he  consented  that  she  should  be 
added  to  the  number.  "I  have  given  up  the  principal  cabin  to 
them,"  said  the  Admiral,  "since  thou  and  I  can  fare  rudely  a 
few  weeks.  Let  the  girl  come,  and  see  thou  to  her  comfort 
and  convenience." 

So  Ozema,  the  Indian  princess,  as  she  was  called,  went  with 
Columbus  to  Spain,  where  her  beauty  won  universal  admiration 
and  aroused  the  jealousy  of  Mercedes;  and  when  the  Queen, 
pleased  to  hear  that  Don  Luis  had  returned,  bearing  himself 
as  modestly  as  if  he  had  no  share  in  the  glory,  proposed  to 
Mercedes  that  she  should  wed  Don  Luis  at  once,  she  hid  her 
face  and  murmured,  almost  overcome  with  emotion: 

"No,  no,  no,  Senora;   never,  never!" 

"Canst  thou  explain  this,  Beatriz?"  asked  the  Queen, 
turning  to  the  Marchioness  of  Moya  in  wonder.  "I  appear  to 
have  wounded  the  heart  of  this  child,  when  I  fancied  I  was 
conferring  supreme  happiness." 

"Alas!  Senora,  Luis,  thoughtless  and  unprincipled  boy, 
hath  induced  a  youthful  Indian  princess  to  abandon  home  and 
friends,  under  pretense  of  swelling  the  triumph  of  the  Admiral, 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  293 

but  really  in  obedience  to  those  evil  caprices  that  make  men 
what  they  are,  and  so  often  render  unhappy  women  their  dupes 
and  victims." 

"Ah!  Senora,"  murmured  Mercedes,  "Luis  is  not  so  very 
culpable.  Ozema's  beauty,  and  my  own  want  of  the  means 
to  keep  him  true,  are  alone  to  blame." 

"Ozema's  beauty!"  repeated  the  Queen.  "Is  this  young 
Indian,  then,  so  perfect  that  my  ward  need  fear  or  envy  her? 
Can  I  see  her,  Beatriz?" 

"You  have  only  to  command,  Senora." 

When  Ozema  was  brought  into  the  presence  of  the  Queen, 
Isabella  commanded  all  others  to  withdraw,  and  questioned 
her  guest  as  well  as  she  was  able  for  an  hour;  but  she  could 
gather  little  more  from  her  than  that  she  was  Luis's  wife. 

"  'Tis  even  worse  than  we  had  imagined,  Beatriz,"  said 
Isabella,  when  she  recalled  the  Marchioness.  "  Thy  heartless, 
inconstant  nephew  hath  already  wedded  the  Indian,  and  she 
is,  at  this  moment,  his  lawful  wife." 

But  when  Columbus  was  questioned  concerning  a  marriage, 
he  denied  that  any  had  taken  place,  and  when  Luis  himself 
was  confronted  with  Ozema's  declaration,  he  said: 

"I  deny  it  altogether.  Neither  have  I  wedded  her,  nor 
hath  the  thought  of  so  doing  with  any  but  Mercedes  ever 
crossed  my  mind." 

"Hast  thou  then  wronged  her,"  asked  the  Admiral,  "and 
given  her  a  right  to  think  that  thou  didst  mean  wedlock?" 

"I  have  not.  Mine  own  sister  would  not  have  been  more 
respected  than  hath  Ozema  been  respected  by  me,  as  is  shown 
by  my  hastening  to  place  her  in  the  care  of  my  dear  aunt  and 
in  the  company  of  Dona  Mercedes." 

When  Ozema  was  questioned  more  closely,  it  was  dis- 
covered that  she  had  regarded  the  act  of  Luis  in  giving  her  a 
cross,  when  they  were  in  peril  of  death  on  the  return  voyage,  as 
equivalent  to  a  Christian  marriage. 

"I  witnessed  the  offering  of  that  cross,"  said  Columbus, 
"during  a  tempest  at  sea,  and  it  impressed  me  favorably  with 
the  Count's  zeal  in  behalf  of  a  benighted  soul.  There  was  no 
wedlock  intended,  nor  could  any  but  one  ignorant  of  Christian 
usages  have  imagined  it." 


294  MERCEDES   OF  CASTTLE 

This  put  at  rest  the  matter  so  far  as  Ozema  was  concerned; 
and,  through  the  intercession  of  the  Queen,  Don  Luis  and 
Mercedes  were  reconciled.  Isabella  took  Ozema  under  her 
protection  and  decreed  that  she  should  be  paid  all  the  honors 
due  her  position;  but  the  climate  gradually  undermined  the 
health  of  the  Indian  princess,  and  she  was  laid  to  rest  before 
Columbus  sailed  again  for  the  New  World.  On  her  death-bed 
she  asked  to  be  made  a  Christian;  and  when  the  Archbishop 
had  performed  the  ceremony  that  put  her  within  the  pale  of 
salvation,  she  said: 

"Euis  marry  Mercedes,  because  he  love  best — then  marry 
Ozema,  second  wife — because  he  love  next  best.  Ozema 
Christian  now." 


THE   DEERSLAYER  (1841) 

This  is  the  first  of  the  Leather-Stocking  Tales  in  point  of  sequence  so  far  as 
the  stories  are  concerned,  but  in  point  of  publication  it  is  the  last.  It  was  long 
after  Cooper  had  written  The  Prairie,  in  which  he  describes  the  death  of  his 
hero,  that  he  wrote  The  Deerslayer,  where  Natty  Bumppo,  the  Deerslayer, 
Leather-Stocking,  the  Pathfinder,  or  Hawk -Eye — the  various  names  under  which 
he  is  known — makes  his  appearance  as  a  young  hunter. 

N  the  eighteenth  century,  a  few  years  before  the 
time  of  the  French  and  Indian  wars,  a  strange 
structure  rose  in  the  middle  of  Lake  Otsego,  in 
that  untrodden  wilderness  that  is  now  central 
New  York. 

There  an  adventurer  of  mysterious  ante- 
cedents built  for  himself  a  singular  habitation. 
He  drove  great  spiles  into  a  shoal  that  rose  to 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  surface — the  only  shoal 
in  this  whole  body  of  water.  On  these  spiles  he  erected  a 
massive  dwelling  of  logs  fully  two  feet  thick,  loopholed  for 
rifles  and  provided  with  a  further  protection  in  the  shape  of  a 
palisade  of  saplings  driven  into  the  shoal  and  open  only  at  one 
entrance,  where  a  platform  offered  a  landing-place. 

The  very  daring  of  this  plan  formed  its  security.  Though 
it  was  so  conspicuous,  it  was  quite  inaccessible  except  by  boat; 
and  the  spoils  to  be  obtained  were  hardly  sufficient  to  induce 
Indians  to  transport  or  make  birch-bark  canoes  for  the  purpose 
of  attack,  while  the  expedient  of  attacking  by  raft  threw  all  the 
hazard  on  the  assailing  party. 

In  this  water-fort  the  owner,  who  called  himself  Thomas 
Hutter,  lived  with  his  daughters:  Hetty,  who  was  generally 
considered  a  little  deranged,  or  at  least  feeble-minded;  and 
Judith,  a  dark,  glowing  beauty,  who  had  turned  the  head  of 
more  than  one  British  officer  in  the  settlements,  and,  if  rumor 
spoke  truly,  had  not  withstood  their  wooings  with  entire  blame- 
lessness. 

295 


396  THE   DEERSLAYER 

Hutter's  wife,  a  beautiful,  gentle,  distinguished  woman, 
strangely  different  from  the  rough,  savage  man  whose  name 
she  bore,  had  not  lived  long  after  entering  the  wilderness,  and 
was  buried  in  the  deepest  part  of  the  lake. 

For  the  purpose  of  trapping  and  hunting  Thomas  Hutter 
built  a  great  vessel,  scow-like  in  construction,  bearing  a  long 
deck-house  with  sides  thick  enough  to  be  bullet-proof.  The 
"  ark,"  as  it  was  known  to  the  few  frontiersmen  who  visited  the 
lake,  was  absent  on  one  of  his  expeditions,  when  two  young 
men  in  garments  of  tanned  deerskin  broke  through  the  June 
forest,  and,  after  casting  about  in  the  underbrush  for  some 
time,  drew  forth  a  birch-bark  canoe  from  the  hollow  of  a 
fallen  tree,  where  it  had  been  hidden.  They  were  two  of  the 
most  famous  of  the  adventurers  in  that  great  forest. 

Though  they  had  made  their  way  together  from  the  settle- 
ments, they  were  only  chance  companions.  The  gigantic  Hurry 
Harry,  so  named  because  of  his  hasty  and  impetuous  temper, 
was  pressing  forward  as  a  messenger  of  war  to  warn  the  Hutters 
that  the  French  and  their  Iroquois  allies  were  moving  from 
the  north  to  attack  the  English  and  their  allies,  the  Delawares. 

The  other  hunter,  Nathaniel  Bumppo,  named  Deerslayer 
by  the  Delawares,  with  whom  he  lived,  was  on  his  way  to  meet 
his  friend  Chingachgook,  son  of  the  chief  Uncas  of  the  Mohicans, 
the  noblest  of  the  Delaware  tribes.  These  two  yoimg  men  were 
to  start  together  on  a  dual  mission:  to  fight  on  the  side  of  the 
English  and  to  search  for  Chingachgook's  Indian  sweetheart. 
Hist,  who  had  been  stolen  from  her  wigwam  by  a  Mohican 
renegade,  Yocommon,  or  Briarthom,  and  carried  oflf  to  an 
Iroquois  band. 

Having  paddled  to  the  castle  and  found  it  deserted,  the  two 
hunters  proceeded  cautiously  down  the  lake;  and,  anchored 
just  within  the  mouth  of  the  river,  they  discovered  the  ark. 

They  found  old  Hutter  prepared  for  their  news,  and  anxious 
lest  the  Indians  should  cut  him  off  before  he  could  get  the  ark 
out  of  the  close  quarters  in  which  she  lay.  The  three  men 
hurried  the  girls  into  the  security  of  the  cabin  and  hauled 
powerfully  on  the  cable.  To  their  joy,  the  unwieldy  craft 
cleared  the  narrowest  part  of  the  river  without  interference  and 
reached  a  spot  where  the  open  lake  could  be  seen. 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  297 

In  obedience  to  instructions  Deerslayer  then  retired  into  the 
cabin  and  watched  through  the  loopholes  for  attack  from  astern, 
while  the  other  two  men,  comparatively  secure  in  the  bow, 
hauled  up  to  the  grapnel  that  lay  in  the  lake. 

The  ark,  in  clearing  the  mouth  of  the  river,  swung  under 
an  overhanging  sapling.  The  next  instant  Deerslayer  shouted : 
"Pull  for  your  hfe!"  and  half  a  dozen  Indians  in  full  war-paint 
ran  along  the  tree  and  leaped  for  the  scow. 

Five  missed  the  boat  because  it  had  begun  to  dart  ahead. 
The  leader  struck  just  within  the  stem.  Before  he  could  pull 
himself  together,  Judith,  her  dark  beauty  flushing  crimson  from 
excitement,  rushed  from  the  cabin  and  pushed  him  overboard. 
Bullets  pattered  around  the  ark,  but  in  another  moment  the 
craft  was  out  in  the  lake  and  the  grapnel  lifted. 

When  the  girls  were  safely  in  the  house  and  the  ark  secure 
behind  the  palisade,  the  three  men  launched  a  canoe  and 
paddled  quietly  to  shore  to  get  the  two  remaining  canoes  that 
were  hidden  in  hollow  trees,  the  possession  of  which  would 
enable  the  savages  to  creep  on  the  castle. 

They  found  the  first  without  any  adventure,  and  towed  it 
to  the  middle  of  the  lake,  where  they  set  it  free  in  such  a  way 
that  it  would  drift  toward  the  castle.  The  second  one  was 
hidden  some  distance  down  the  shore.  Just  as  they  had 
launched  it  and  Hutter  and  Hurry  Harry  had  taken  their 
positions  in  it,  their  eyes  caught  the  gleam  of  an  ember  under 
the  trees. 

At  once  they  decided,  despite  the  remonstrances  of  Deer- 
slayer, to  creep  on  the  camp  and  try  for  scalps;  for  the  British 
colonies  had  declared  a  bounty  on  the  scalps  of  Indians  fighting 
on  the  French  side.  Deerslayer  refused  to  join  them,  but 
agreed  to  lie  off  shore  in  his  canoe.  After  they  had  disappeared, 
he  got  the  vacant  canoe  and  set  it  free  on  the  lake,  and  then 
floated  close  to  the  shore,  waiting. 

Suddenly  a  cry  of  terror  rang  out.  Rifles  roared  under  the 
trees.  Bushes  and  branches  crashed.  The  two  hunters  burst 
on  the  beach;  but  even  as  Deerslayer  urged  his  canoe  toward 
them,  they  fell  under  a  swarm  of  savages  and  were  speedily 
tied   up. 

Knowing  that  he  could  not  aid  his  imprudent  companions, 


298  THE   DEERSLAYER 

Dccrslaycr  started  for  the  castle.  On  his  way  he  picked  up  one 
canoe,  but  could  not  find  the  other  until  the  first  gray  glimmer 
of  dawn  showed  the  little  boat  drifting  ashore  near  the  foot  of 
the  mountain. 

Just  as  he  reached  the  precious  craft,  a  rifle-shot  came  from 
the  woods.  He  jumped  like  one  shot  fatally,  and  fell  face 
down.  The  stratagem  succeeded.  A  painted  Iroquois  came 
bounding  to  seize  the  boat  only  to  be  laid  low  by  the  white 
hunter's  rifle. 

Deerslayer  paddled  his  recovered  canoes  swiftly  to  the 
castle;  and  at  sunset  Chingachgook  made  his  way  through  the 
hidden  watchers  around  the  lake  and  added  another  deadly 
rifle  to  their  little  force. 

They  held  a  council  of  war  and  agreed  that  to  free  Hutter 
and  Hurry  Harry  by  force  or  trick  was  out  of  the  question;  but 
Deerslayer  believed  that  it  might  be  possible  to  ransom  them. 
Among  Hutter's  possessions  he  found  little  to  tempt  savages 
except  a  beautiful  rifle,  which  was  famous  far  and  wide  under 
the  title  of  Killdeer;  but  eager  as  Indians  were  to  own  so 
mighty  a  weapon,  it  alone  would  not  induce  them  to  give  up 
two  such  formidable  white  enemies.  At  this  juncture  Judith 
suggested  that  they  open  a  great  chest,  which  Hutter  always 
had  guarded  with  jealous  care,  refusing  to  let  his  daughters 
peer  into  it. 

After  a  long  search  the  keys  were  found  and  the  lifted  lid 
disclosed  splendors  strange  indeed  for  a  wilderness  cabin. 
Rich  coats,  scarlet  and  gold,  were  drawn  forth,  and  below  them 
lay  still  richer  garments— glorious  dresses  in  brocade  and  silk, 
finer  than  any  that  Judith  had  ever  seen  on  the  officers'  ladies 
in  the  forts. 

Silver-mounted  pistols  succeeded.  Next  came  something 
that  surprised  even  Chingachgook  out  of  his  Indian  stoicism 
and  forced  him  to  utter  exclamations  of  delighted  wonder.  It 
was  a  set  of  uncommonly  large  and  beautiful  ivory  chessmen. 
The  Indian's  greatest  wonder  was  aroused  by  the  castles,  which 
were  mounted  on  large  elephants;  and  he  gazed  at  the  "two- 
tailed  beasts"  with  almost  superstitious  awe. 

"Buy  whole  tribe — buy  Delaware,  almost!"  said  he. 

At  that  instant  a  sound  outside  startled  them.     Deerslayer 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  299 

crept  out  and  saw  a  raft  at  the  palisades,  with  an  Indian  lad  in 
it.  Before  he  could  stir  Hetty  stood  before  him.  A  few  words 
sufficed  to  explain  what  had  happened.  The  feeble-minded 
girl  had  stolen  ashore  in  a  canoe,  which  she  shoved  back  into 
the  lake  after  she  had  landed,  so  that  the  Iroquois  should  not 
get  it,  and  then  made  her  way  to  the  Indian  camp. 

With  the  veneration  that  the  Indians  accorded  to  all  whose 
intellects  were  deranged,  the  Iroquois  offered  her  no  harm. 
She  was  permitted  to  wander  around  the  camp,  and  to  talk 
with  her  father  and  Hurry  Harry.  She  had  also  seen  Chin- 
gachgook's  bride.  Hist,  who  had  managed  to  impress  on  the 
feeble-minded  girl  a  message  telling  Chingachgook  that  she 
would  try  to  creep  to  a  certain  spot  on  the  shore  when  the 
evening  star  should  appear  above  the  tops  of  the  hemlocks  on 
the  next  night. 

After  some  hours  the  Indian  lad  had  ferried  her  to  the  castle 
to  deliver  a  message  from  the  warriors  in  which  they  asked  for 
some  canoes  so  they  might  deliver  their  captives  to  their  friends. 

This  proposal,  of  course,  was  not  accepted;  but  the  lad 
offered  the  opportunity  desired  to  treat  for  ransom.  He  was 
permitted  to  examine  the  elephants,  which  elicited  evident 
delight,  and  returned  soon  with  two  chiefs,  who  agreed  to  take 
the  wonderful  things  in  exchange  for  the  prisoners,  who  were 
duly  delivered. 

That  this  did  not  mean  peace,  however,  was  proved  a  few 
moments  afterward,  when  a  bundle  of  faggots,  with  the  ends 
dipped  in  blood,  was  tossed  on  the  platform  outside  of  the  palisade. 

On  seeing  this  signal  of  war,  Deerslayer  counseled  that  the 
party  desert  the  castle  for  the  night  and  take  to  the  ark,  with 
the  canoes  in  tow,  to  escape  a  siege;  and  soon  the  big  craft  was 
loaded  with  all  the  valuables,  including  the  chest,  and  skimming 
silently  down  the  lake.  While  the  others  were  sleeping.  Deer- 
slayer  and  Chingachgook  paddled  toward  the  Indian  camp  to 
attempt  Hist's  rescue, 

Chingachgook  landed  and  Deerslayer  paddled  around  a 
point  and  lay  motionless  in  the  black  shadow  of  the  shore,  where 
he  could  see  the  Iroquois. 

Before  long  he  discovered  Hist  under  the  watchful  eye  of  an 
old  squaw.    As  it  was  evident  that  she  would  not  be  able  to 


300  THE   DEERSLAYER 

creep  away  to  the  rendezvous,  Deerslayer  paddled  back  and 
held  counsel  with  Chingachgook.  In  a  few  minutes  the  canoe 
crept  into  the  shadow  of  the  shore  like  a  shadow  itself,  and 
two  forms  melted  into  the  bushes. 

Warned  by  the  little  chirrup  of  a  squirrel  from  a  tree  im- 
mediately behind  her,  Hist  was  on  the  alert  when  the  old  squaw 
called  to  her  to  go  along  to  the  spring  behind  the  camp  for  water, 
and  gripped  her  by  the  wrist  as  they  started  down  the  trail. 
Scarcely  had  they  reached  the  spring  before  Deerslayer  had 
the  old  woman  by  the  throat  while  Chingachgook  seized  Hist 
and  carried  her  swiftly  to  the  canoe. 

Unluckily  for  the  white  hunter,  his  aversion  to  killing  for- 
bade his  choking  the  old  woman  sufficiently,  and  she  managed 
to  utter  one  screech,  which  brought  the  Iroquois  about  his  ears 
in  a  rush. 

Running  to  the  beach  where  Chingachgook  and  Hist 
crouched  in  the  canoe,  paddles  in  hand,  he  dropped  his  rifle 
into  the  boat  and  stooped  to  shove  it  off  when  an  Indian  leaped 
on  his  back.  Without  hesitating  a  second  Deerslayer  gave  the 
canoe  a  mighty  push  that  sent  it  out  into  the  lake,  and  grappled 
with  his  assailant. 

A  dozen  others  sprang  on  him,  and  Deerslayer  was  made 
captive,  to  the  vehement  joy  of  the  Iroquois,  who  felt  that  they 
had  struck  a  great  blow  at  the  hated  Delawares  by  capturing 
that  tribe's  famous  white  brother. 

Hutter  and  Hurry  Harry,  forgetting  their  own  recent 
capture,  censured  Deerslayer' s  imprudence,  and  showed  little 
anxiety  to  save  him  when  Chingachgook  and  Hist  arrived  at 
the  ark  with  the  news.  They  set  sail  for  the  castle,  and  Elutter 
steered  boldly  toward  it,  heedless  of  Chingachgook' s  warning 
that  he  saw  signs  of  Indians  being  in  hiding  there. 

Perceiving  that  the  reckless  frontiersmen  were  bent  on 
entering  without  precaution,  Chingachgook  and  Hist  held  the 
ark  outside  of  the  palisade  after  the  two  white  men  had  boarded 
the  canoes  and  paddled  within.  The  Mohican's  wisdom  was 
soon  apparent;  for  suddenly  the  whole  interior  of  the  building 
seemed  alive. 

Cursing  and  fighting.  Hurry  Harry  presently  emerged  from 
the  doorway  with  two  or  three  Indians  hanging  to  his  huge 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  301 

form.  He  hurled  one  from  him  so  mightily  that  the  Indian 
rolled  into  the  lake  unconscious  and  did  not  reappear.  Then 
he  seized  a  second  one  and  bent  him  backward  with  such  force 
that  the  savage's  eyes  began  to  stare  as  in  death.  But  the 
others  leaped  on  the  white  man,  tied  him  hand  and  foot  and 
dropped  him  on  the  platform  at  the  entrance  to  the  stockade. 

Chingachgook  swung  the  ark  around  at  that  moment  and 
shouted  to  Harry  to  roll  overboard.  As  he  touched  the  water 
Hist  threw  a  line,  which  coiled  around  him  so  that  he  could 
seize  it  with  his  teeth  and  with  his  tethered  hands.  The  ark 
filled  away  under  the  patter  of  bullets  and  dragged  him  off. 
As  soon  as  the  craft  was  out  of  range  he  was  brought  safely 
aboard. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  they  saw  the  Iroquois  leaving  the 
castle  on  rafts  and  in  the  canoes  which  they  had  captured. 
After  careful  reconnoitering  from  a  distance  Chingachgook 
brought  the  ark  back  to  the  palisade.  They  entered  and  found 
Hutter  lying  on  the  floor,  scalped. 

Before  sunset  his  body  was  lowered  into  the  lake  near  that 
of  the  girl's  mother.  As  the  ark  was  slowly  moving  from  the 
spot  those  on  board  became  aware  of  a  canoe  advancing  steadily 
toward  them.  A  glance  sufficed  to  show  that  its  solitary 
occupant  was  Deerslayer;  but  his  approach  was  strangely 
deliberate  for  a  fugitive. 

If  any  on  the  ark  thought  at  first  that  he  had  escaped,  they 
were  undeceived  as  soon  as  the  hunter  came  aboard,  for  he  told 
them  that  the  Iroquois  had  reprieved  him  only  until  noon  of 
the  next  day,  and  had  given  him  a  message,  which  was  that  they 
would  let  Hurry  Harry  and  Chingachgook  depart  unmolested, 
providing  Hist,  Judith  and  Hetty  were  delivered  over  to  become 
the  wives  of  Iroquois.  As  for  himself,  they  would  not  let  him 
off,  but  were  determined  to  put  him  to  the  torture. 

None  on  the  ark  thought  for  even  a  moment  of  entertaining 
the  offer,  with  the  exception  of  Hurry  Harry,  who  had  asked 
Judith  to  be  his  wife  that  day  and  had  been  rendered  furious 
by  her  refusal.  He  openly  declared  that  he  would  go  that  night, 
and  accordingly  Deerslayer  paddled  him  ashore  as  soon  as 
darkness  fell.  When  he  returned  to  the  ark  he  found  Judith 
awake  and  waiting  for  him. 


302  THE   DEERSLAYER 

She  insisted  on  searching  through  the  chest  again  in  the  hope 
of  linding  something  that  might  tempt  the  Iroquois  to  accept 
it  as  ransom  for  the  young  hunter.  Deerslayer  humored  her, 
though  he  knew  too  well  that  the  Iroquois,  angry  because  they 
had  failed  to  induce  him  to  enter  their  tribe,  would  not  forego 
torturing  him  for  any  bribe  that  could  be  offered. 

To  Judith's  bitter  disappointment,  the  chest  failed  to  yield 
anything  except  a  bundle  of  letters.  Under  any  other  circum- 
stances these  would  have  proved  of  overwhelming  interest  to 
her,  for  they  disclosed  to  her  the  fact  that  Hutter  was  not  the 
father  of  herself  and  Hetty,  but  a  fugitive  hunted  by  the  British 
Government  for  piracy  on  the  high  seas.  He  had  married  the 
girls'  mother  only  after  she  had  been  deserted  by  their  high- 
bom  but  unnamed  father. 

Seeing  that  no  hope  of  ransom  remained,  Judith  besought 
Deerslayer  not  to  return  to  the  Iroquois.  She  confessed  her 
love  for  him,  and  urged  that  no  consideration  of  honor  could  go 
so  far  as  to  compel  a  man  to  submit  voluntarily  to  such  frightful 
tortures  as  the  Iroquois  were  certain  to  inflict.  Deerslayer, 
however,  was  firm,  and  Chingachgook  sadly  but  sternly  upheld 
him. 

Accordingly,  Deerslayer  walked  into  the  Iroquois  camp 
next  day  at  noon  as  quietly  as  if  he  had  come  on  a  visit  to 
friends.  When  he  delivered  the  answers  of  Chingachgook 
and  the  three  girls  there  was  a  movement  of  angry  excitement 
among  the  warriors;  and  when,  in  addition,  he  again  refused 
for  his  own  part  to  join  the  tribe  and  marry  a  squaw,  the  brother 
of  the  jilted  woman  hurled  a  tomahawk  at  his  head. 

Deerslayer  did  not  move  head  or  body;  but  his  arm  shot  out 
like  lightning.  He  caught  the  weapon  by  the  whirling  handle 
and  hurled  it  back,  striking  the  Indian  full  in  the  forehead  and 
killing  him  instantly. 

Even  as  the  savage  fell,  Deerslayer  darted  away  as  swiftly 
as  a  stag;  and  before  the  Indians  could  yell  he  had  gained  the 
woods.  None  of  the  Iroquois  could  outrun  him,  and  for  a  time 
he  managed  to  elude  them,  gained  the  shore  by  a  roundabout 
way  and  took  possession  of  a  canoe,  his  only  hope  of  safety. 
But  then  the  superior  number  of  his  pursuers  told,  and  in  the 
end  he  was  retaken  and  carried  back  to  camp. 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  303 

Here  the  whole  band  closed  around  him.  They  bound  him 
against  a  young  tree,  with  his  hands  laid  flat  against  his  legs. 
The  women  and  boys  began  to  make  pine  'splinters,  which  he 
knew  were  to  be  stuck  into  his  flesh  and  set  afire.  Others  pre- 
pared a  fire  to  furnish  burning  brands. 

A  young  warrior  leaped  to  the  space  in  front  of  the  bound 
man,  whirled  his  tomahawk  and  let  it  fly.  It  cut  a  chip  out  of 
the  tree  close  to  Deerslayer's  cheek.  He  neither  moved  nor 
winced,  and  did  not  even  shut  his  eyes,  determined  that  the 
Indians  should  not  triumph  o\'er  him  by  making  him  show  fear. 

A  second  warrior  threw  his  tomahawk  so  well  that  it  actually 
forced  some  of  Deerslayer's  hair  into  the  cleft  that  it  made  in  the 
tree.  Tomahawk  after  tomahawk  was  delivered  now,  one 
following  the  other  like  lightning.  Then  came  warriors  who 
threw  kni\'es.  But  not  once  did  they  succeed  in  making  the 
white  man  move  a  muscle. 

Furious,  and  determined  that  the  hunter's  nerve  must  be 
broken  down,  they  prepared  for  the  real  torture.  The  great  fire 
was  lit  and  the  warriors  advanced  to  it,  when  every  hand  was 
arrested  by  a  wonderful  apparition.  It  was  Judith,  dressed 
in  the  splendid  brocade  that  had  lain  concealed  so  long  in  the 
chest. 

Even  the  oldest  warriors  could  not  refrain  from  exclamations 
of  surprise  and  delight,  while  the  younger  ones  and  the  women 
pressed  eagerly  forward.  Mingled  admiration  and  awe  quite 
took  out  of  their  minds  any  thought  of  harming  the  beautiful 
vision. 

Judith  at  once  began  a  long  harangue,  claiming  to  be  queen 
of  the  land  and  demanding  Deerslayer's  release.  During  the 
progress  of  her  speech  she  managed  to  approach  the  captive  and 
whisper  to  him  that  all  that  was  needed  was  to  gain  half  an 
hour's  delay. 

Unfortunately  the  Iroquois  did  not  grant  this  truce,  for  they 
recovered  from  their  astonishment  in  a  few  minutes  and  began 
to  ask  (|[uestions  that  showed  that  their  reason  was  getting  the 
upper  hand  of  their  admiration.  Soon  some  of  the  more  eager 
warriors  began  to  close  around  Deerslayer  again,  and  the 
chief  gave  the  signal  to  proceed. 

The  flames  of  the  temporarily  neglected  fire  sprang  up  a 


304  THE   DEERSLAYER 

second  time.  The  warriors  felt  their  knives  and  tomahawks. 
Judith  was  forced  back.  Deerslayer  braced  himself  for  the 
exquisite  torment  to  come,  when  suddenly  a  knife  slashed  his 
bonds  and  a  rifle  was  pressed  into  his  hand! 

Ere  he  knew  what  had  happened  Chingachgook  stood  by 
his  side  with  another  rifle ;  and  in  the  same  instant  the  Mohican 
hurled  his  knife,  which  buried  itself  in  the  heart  of  Briarthorn, 
the  renegade. 

A  fearful  yell  burst  from  the  Iroquois.  It  was  answered  by 
a  thundering  English  cheer.  Before  the  Iroquois  could  move, 
the  scarlet  uniforms  of  British  soldiers  came  down  from  all 
directions  in  a  furious  bayonet-charge  that  overwhelmed  them 
in  hopeless,  helpless  defeat. 

Few  of  the  soldiers  were  wounded;  but  Hetty,  who  had 
followed  Judith  into  the  camp,  had  been  hit  by  a  stray  bullet 
and  died  before  the  little  army  returned  to  the  settlement. 

It  was  fifteen  years  afterward  when  Deerslayer  again  saw 
Lake  Otsego.  He  and  his  friend  Chingachgook  were  hastening 
to  the  forts  to  join  the  colonists  on  the  eve  of  another  and  still 
more  important  war.  A  stripling  accompanied  them — Chin- 
gachgook's  son — on  his  first  warpath. 

Hist  lay  buried  under  the  pines  on  the  Delaware,  and 
Chingachgook  sadly  pointed  out  to  the  lad  the  scenes  of  his 
youthful  love-story.  They  paddled  over  the  spot  where  Hetty 
and  her  mother  and  Hutter  lay.  The  castle  still  stood,  but 
was  fast  falling  into  decay.     The  ark  was  stranded  and  rotting. 

In  its  cabin  Deerslayer  found  a  ribbon  that  he  recognized 
as  having  belonged  to  Judith.  He  picked  it  up  gently  and 
caressingly  and  tied  it  to  his  rifle.  His  inquiries  after  Judith 
had  been  ineffective.  He  had  been  able  to  learn  only  that  one 
of  the  British  officers,  who  had  long  known  the  girl,  had  suddenly 
retired  from  the  service  after  the  fight  in  the  wilderness  and  was 
living  on  his  paternal  estate  in  England  with  a  lady  of  rare 
beauty  who  had  great  influence  over  him,  although  she  did  not 
bear  his  name.  He  never  asked  for  further  news  of  her,  but 
often,  in  his  subsequent  career,  when  he  had  become  the  scourge 
of  the  Iroquois  and  Hurons,  he  thought  of  Judith  of  the  Lake 
and  sighed. 


THE  TWO   ADMIRALS  (1842) 

The  events  related  in  this  story  occurred  in  the  reign  of  George  II,  previ- 
ous to  the  Old  French  War,  as  it  is  called  in  America.  The  two  chief  features 
of  the  plot  consist  of  the  question  of  the  legal  points  of  English  law  at  that 
period  regarding  the  succession  to  titles  and  estates,  and  the  lifelong  friend- 
ship of  a  vice-admiral  and  a  rear-admiral  of  the  same  fleet,  which  proved 
stronger  than  their  political  prejudices. 

!HE  story  opens  on  a  cliff  in  the  limits  of  a  small 
hamlet  called  Wychecombe,  on  the  coast  of 
Devonshire.  The  ancestral  manor-house  of  the 
old  Baronet,  Wycherley  Wychecombe,  was  in  the 
neighborhood.  Lieutenant  Wycherley,  a  young 
naval  officer  connected  with  the  family,  being 
of  a  Virginia  branch,  and  Mildren  Dutton,  the 
charming  daughter  of  a  dissipated  old  naval 
officer  who  had  been  reduced  to  the  care  of  a 
signal- station  overlooking  the  roadstead,  were  sauntering  near 
the  brow  of  the  cliff.  Interested  in  gathering  wild  flowers  for 
the  lady,  the  young  lieutenant  approached  too  near  the  edge, 
which  crumbled  under  his  feet.  A  few  yards  below  he  was 
caught  by  a  very  narrow  ledge  where  he  supported  himself 
by  some  shrubs.  But  this  situation  was  exceedingly  precarious, 
and  at  any  moment  he  might  be  dashed  to  death  on  the  rocks 
far  below. 

In  the  greatest  distress  Mildred  hastened  for  aid.  Wych- 
erley directed  the  girl  and  her  father  to  throw  down  to  him  the 
flag  halyards  from  the  flagstaff,  doubling  them  and  fastening 
one  end  to  the  staff.  The  timely  arrival  of  Sir  Wycherley  on 
the  scene  together  with  Vice- Admiral  Gervaise,  who  had  just 
landed  from  his  fleet  recently  anchored  in  the  roadstead  below, 
afforded  sufficient  help  to  rescue  the  young  officer  before  his 
strength  gave  out. 

Sir  Gervaise  now  inquired  where  he  could  find  some  reliable 
A.  D.,  VOL.  V. — 20  305 


3o6  THE   TWO   ADMIRALS 

messenger  to  carry  important  disj)atches  to  the  nearest  post 
station.  Sir  Wycherlcy  recommended  the  young  heutcnant 
who  had  just  been  rescued,  and  offered  one  of  his  own  horses 
for  the  service.  The  offer  was  gladly  accepted,  and  the  two 
gentlemen  then  proceeded  to  breakfast  at  the  hall  while  waiting 
for  the  return  of  the  messenger.  Captain  Button  with  his 
wife  and  daughter  Mildred  were  also  invited  to  dine  there  in 
the  evening,  not  on  his  account,  by  any  means,  but  because  of 
the  charms  and  refinement  of  the  ladies. 

Wycherley  was  long  in  returning  from  his  trip,  and  the  Vice- 
Admiral  was  considerably  agitated.  But  altogether  different 
emotions  were  aroused  by  the  news  that  Wycherley  collected 
and  verified  on  the  way.  He  had  learned  that  the  Pretender, 
as  he  was  called,  had  landed  in  Scotland  to  renew  the  efforts 
to  restore  the  Stuarts  to  the  throne.  A  powerful  French  fleet 
had  already  sailed  to  his  assistance,  and  another  civil  war  had 
begun  in  Great  Britain.  This  was  news  indeed.  But  as  there 
was  nothing  to  be  done  by  the  large  fleet  then  lying  at  Wyche- 
combe  until  after  deliberation  or  the  arrival  of  despatches  from 
the  government,  the  proposed  entertainment  went  on  as  origi- 
nally planned.  In  the  mean  time  other  guests  had  arrived, 
including  Tom  Wychecombe,  who  assumed  to  be  the  lawful 
successor  to  the  then  Baronet,  as  his  father  was  reported  to  have 
legitimized  the  three  sons  he  had  by  his  housekeeper,  the  only 
known  offspring,  in  fact,  of  either  Sir  Wycherley  or  of  his  three 
brothers.  Another  guest  was  Rear-Admiral  Bluewater,  the 
second  in  rank  of  the  fleet  commanded  by  Vice-Admiral  Ger- 
vaise.  These  two  capital  seamen  had  been  fast  friends  since 
they  were  midshipmen.  Although  differing  in  character,  each 
had  sterling  qualities  that  attracted  him  to  the  other  to  such  a 
degree  that  they  had  continued,  by  the  tactful  use  of  influence, 
to  be  attached  to  the  same  ship  or  fleet  for  many  years. 

The  dinner  in  the  stately  banqueting-hall  of  Wychecombe 
proceeded  with  genial  talk  until  the  abundant  flow  of  ale  and 
wine  began  to  affect  those  of  weak  heads  or  malignant  tempera- 
ment. Tom  Wychecombe  began  to  show  his  jealousy  of 
Wycherley,  the  young  Virginian,  who  was  also  a  possible  heir 
or  aspirant  to  the  Wychecombe  estate,  if  the  lapse  of  the  entail 
or  lack  of  a  will  should  bring  the  inheritance  into  question. 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  307 

Captain  Dutton,  in  turn,  now  displayed,  under  the  influence 
of  his  uncontrollable  appetite  for  liquor,  the  coarse  brutality 
of  his  nature. 

Under  these  circumstances  the  amiable  Mrs.  Dutton  and  her 
lovely  daughter  felt  obliged  to  retire  from  the  table.  Admiral 
Bluewater,  from  a  sense  of  sympathy,  accompanied  them. 
Captain  Dutton  followed  them  later,  and  proceeded  to  berate 
them  in  the  most  brutal  language,  the  subject  of  his  drunken 
rage  being  the  matrimonial  prospects  of  his  lovely,  sensitive 
daughter  Mildred.  But  when  he  perceived  the  presence  of  the 
Admiral  he  was  brought  partly  to  his  senses,  such  was  the  in- 
fluence of  rank  and  title  in  Europe  in  those  days,  a  weakness 
not  yet  altogether  done  away  with. 

In  the  midst  of  the  dining  festivities  Sir  Wycherley  Wyche- 
combe  was  taken  with  a  paralytic  stroke.  WHien,  by  the  aid 
of  the  village  surgeon,  he  was  brought  to  consciousness,  although 
still  unable  to  express  himself  with  full  clearness,  it  became 
evident  that  but  a  few  days  or  hours  remained  for  him  to  make 
a  will  and  attend  to  other  preparations  for  his  end.  Vice- 
Admiral  Gervaise,  as  the  most  distinguished  person  present, 
took  charge  of  these  matters,  seconded  by  his  secretary,  who 
happened  to  be  there.  The  invalid  managed  to  express  his 
desire  that  a  distant  relative,  Sir  Henry  Wychecombe,  resident 
at  some  distance,  should  be  instantly  sent  for.  Fortunately, 
he  happened  to  be  in  the  neighborhood;  being  a  Catholic  and, 
for  that  as  well  as  other  reasons  concerned  with  the  divine 
right  of  kings,  a  zealous  partisan  of  the  Pretender,  he  had 
come  to  Devonshire  to  see  w^hat  could  be  done  there  to  aid 
the  Stuart  cause  at  this  crisis.  After  many  attempts,  a  will 
was  prepared  leaving  the  land  or  real  estate  to  Sir  Henry 
Wychecombe,  the  Jacobite,  to  the  exclusion  of  Tom  Wyche- 
combe and  his  fraudulent  claim;  the  money,  which  was  very 
considerable,  was  bequeathed  to  a  number  of  friends  or  distant 
connections,  nearly  a  third  being  left  to  Sir  Wycherley's  charm- 
ing favorite,  sweet  Mildred  Dutton.  Another  lump  of  in- 
vested funds  was  willed  to  Wycherley  Wychecombe  of 
Virginia. 

Barely  was  this  document  completed  when  Sir  Wycherley 
fell  into  a  collapse.     All  haste  was  made  to  get  a  pen  into  his 


3o8  THE   TWO   ADMIRALS 

feeble  fingers  and  at  the  right  spot  on  the  paper;  but  ere  he  had 
drawn  a  stroke  he  fell  back  dead. 

Matters  being  as  they  were  before,  Tom  Wychecombe  came 
forward  and,  on  the  strength  of  a  rusty,  soiled  document  pur- 
porting to  be  the  marriage  certificate  of  his  father,  demanded 
possession  of  the  estate.  The  document  bore  the  marks  of 
fraud  on  its  face.  None  of  those  present  accepted  it  for  a 
moment.  Lieutenant  Wycherley  Wychecombe  of  Virginia 
then  produced  papers  showing  that  the  Baronet  had  been  lost 
at  sea,  leaving  an  estate  in  America,  and,  what  was  still  more 
vital,  a  wife  and  family,  of  which  union  he,  Wycherley  Wyche- 
combe, was  the  oldest  offspring.  In  the  absence  of  any  other 
known  and  legal  direct  heirs,  he  now  presented  these  documents. 
They  were  at  once  accepted  by  all  except  Tom  Wychecombe 
as  being  beyond  question  complete  proof  in  favor  of  his  being 
the  true  heir  at  law  to  both  the  property  and  the  title  of  the 
deceased  Baronet.  In  the  presence  of  all  there  he  was  inducted 
by  Sir  Henry  Wychecombe  into  possession. 

In  the  mean  time  Rear- Admiral  Bluewater  returned  to  his 
ship,  the  Cccsar,  and  while  awaiting  orders  considered  two 
questions  of  the  utmost  importance  to  him.  A  hostile  fleet 
was  in  those  waters.  There  was  doubtless  to  be  severe  fighting. 
He  had  by  prize-money  and  other  ways  acquired  a  handsome 
property,  but  had  made  no  will.  He  had  suddenly  taken  a 
great  fancy  to  Mildred  Button,  the  fancy  of  a  man  no  longer 
young,  but  still  hale  and  hearty,  partly  paternal  and  partly 
the  affection  of  a  lover.  He  sympathized  with  her  severe  trials, 
and  had  not  yet  known  her  sufficiently  to  be  aware  of  any 
attachment  she  might  have  formed.  His  connections  were  all 
sufficiently  provided  for;  no  one  had  any  special  claim  on  him. 
Hence,  with  the  impulsiveness  of  a  true  sailor,  he  decided  at 
once.  Alone  in  his  stateroom  Admiral  Bluewater  wrote  a 
brief  but  unbreakable  last  will  and  testament,  had  it  witnessed 
by  one  of  his  officers,  and  thereby  bequeathed  all  he  had  with- 
out reserve  to  Mildred  Button.  It  was  found  in  his  desk  after 
his  death,  addressed  to  her. 

The  other  subject  Admiral  Bluewater  had  on  his  mind  was 
the  question  to  which  side  he  ov/ed  and  proposed  to  give  his 
allegiance  at  the  approaching  conflict  for  the  throne  of  Great 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  309 

Britain — the  Georges  or  the  Stuarts.  He  was  both  in  heart 
and  brain  a  patriot.  He  loved  his  country;  but,  like  many  of 
his  countrymen  of  whom  a  number  still  accept  the  curious 
doctrine,  he  believed  in  the  divine  right  of  kings,  good,  bad,  or 
indifferent,  and  therefore  that  it  was  the  duty  of  all  subjects 
to  stand  by  the  divinely-appointed  line  at  all  hazards.  He  had 
met  Sir  Henry  Wychecombe  at  the  Hall  when  the  will  was 
drawn  up;  both  soon  learned,  as  happens  in  such  cases,  that 
they  shared  the  same  views  on  this  subject;  and  in  guarded 
language  Sir  Henry  did  all  he  could  to  lead  the  Rear-Admiral 
to  abandon  his  allegiance  to  King  George  and  throw  his  efforts 
and  experience  in  favor  of  Charles  Edward. 

What  might  have  occurred  at  that  hazardous  interview  it 
is  difficult  to  tell.  But  the  wind  was  rising,  the  Vice-Admiral 
had  already  sailed  with  his  division  of  the  fleet,  and  Admiral 
Bluewater  was  to  follow  with  his  contingent  at  a  stated  hour. 
Thus  before  he  had  come  to  a  decisive  conclusion  and  irrev- 
ocably committed  himself,  the  boat  was  announced  that  was 
to  take  him  to  his  flagship.  There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose. 
A  gale  was  coming  on,  and  the  line-of-battle  ships  and  frigates 
were  tugging  at  their  cables.  The  Admiral  hurried  on  board 
and  put  to  sea.  But  his  mind  was  not  at  rest.  The  two 
causes  pleaded  in  his  mind.  He  could  but  admit  that  honor 
held  him  to  the  sovereign  whose  commission  he  held,  whose 
ships  he  was  commanding;  he  thought,  too,  of  the  long  friend- 
ship that  bound  him  to  Vice-Admiral  Gervaise,  with  whom  he 
had  already  exchanged  a  few  words  on  the  subject  without 
committing  himself  to  any  decided  course.  His  friend  Ger- 
vaise had  left  him,  confident  that  he  would  do  nothing  contrary 
to  honor  and  duty. 

It  blew  hard  all  night  and  the  next  day;  but  Gervaise, 
without  waiting  for  the  expected  despatches,  kept  on  his  course 
to  meet  the  French  fleet.  The  following  afternoon  he  sighted 
it,  and  although  nearly  half  his  fleet  was  yet  behind,  and  the 
enemy  were  double  his  own  force,  he  made  a  dash  at  them  at 
the  height  of  the  storm,  captured  one  ship  and  disabled  two 
others.  On  the  following  morning  the  Vice-Admiral  pro- 
posed to  renew  the  attack,  although  at  great  hazard.  He  was 
depressed  and  mystified  at  the  continued  absence  of  his  col- 


3IO  THE   TWO   ADMIRALS 

league  with  the  rest  of  the  fleet.  He  had  his  surmises  as  to 
the  cause,  and  yet  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  lliat  Blue- 
water  had  resolved  to  play  the  traitor. 

As  the  van  under  Gervaise  was  moving  to  battle,  the  ships 
of  the  Rear-Admiral  hove  in  sight,  but  showed  no  distinct 
intention  to  join  in  the  action.  Signals  had  been  made  and  a 
despatch  had  been  sent  from  Bluewater  urging  the  Vice-Admiral 
to  delay  precipitating  a  conflict  with  the  French.  Here  were 
evidences  or  suggestions  not  so  much  of  treason  as  of  vacillation. 
Gervaise  knew  just  what  was  passing  in  the  mind  of  his  friend, 
l)ut  said  nothing  to  arouse  suspicion.  He  hoped  that  as  soon 
as  he  saw  the  fighting  actually  beginning,  Bluewater  would 
come  to  his  senses  and  do  his  full  duty;  and  so  the  event  proved. 

No  sooner  did  Bluewater,  that  stanch  old  seaman,  see  his 
friend  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  with  the  enemy's  flagship  on  the 
starboard  of  him,  while  another  line-of-battle  ship  was  just 
doubling  on  his  port,  pouring  in  broadsides,  and  a  third  vessel 
was  taking  position  to  rake  the  Plantagenet,  the  ship  of  Ger- 
vaise, than  his  blood  was  fired  with  remorse.  His  better 
nature  asserted  itself.  He  put  his  helm  up  and  dashed  into 
the  midst  of  the  fight  with  such  fury  that  when  he  laid  his  ship 
alongside  of  the  French  ship  on  the  port  of  the  Plantagenet,  he 
himself  led  the  charge  of  the  boarders,  and  thus  carried  the  ship 
and  decided  the  victory  of  the  English,  but  himself  fell  in  the 
midst  of  the  melee  mortally  wounded. 

They  bore  him  back  to  his  stateroom  on  his  own  ship.  As 
soon  as  Gervaise  heard  the  sad  tidings  he  ordered  his  cot  to  be 
taken  over  to  the  CcBsar,  and  did  not  leave  it  until  all  was  over. 
Bluewater  showed  signs  of  desiring  to  explain  and  apologize 
for  his  singular  course;  but  the  Vice- Admiral  would  not  allow 
him  to  talk  on  the  subject.  He  understood  all  about  it;  he 
had  sympathized  in  his  friend's  struggle  on  the  question  of 
duty,  and  had  no  reproaches  to  make.  During  the  last  hour  no 
one  was  admitted  to  the  stateroom  but  Gervaise.  And  there 
he  remained  alone  with  his  friend,  whose  last  words  were, 
"Kiss  me,  Oakes." 

Rear- Admiral  Bluewater  was  buried  in  Westminster.  Until 
his  own  death  Sir  Oakes  Gervaise  was  in  the  habit  of  often 
visiting  the  tomb  of  his  friend. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  311 

Of  the  other  characters  of  this  tale  it  is  sufficient  to  state 
that  Sir  Wycherley  Wychecombe  and  Mildred  Button  fulfilled 
their  destiny  by  uniting  in  marriage,  and  the  family  they 
left  behind  them  prevented  any  further  difficulties  as  to  the 
inheritance  of  the  baronetcy  of  Wychecombe.  Mildred  of 
course  inherited  the  ample  fortune  left  to  her  by  the  true- 
hearted  mariner,  Rear-Admiral  Bluewater. 


WING   AND   WING  (1842) 

T  was  at  the  height  of  the  Napoleonic  period, 
especially  glorious  to  those  who  love  the  sea 
and  ships  for  its  feats  in  naval  warfare,  that  the 
good  people  of  the  little  town  of  Porto  Ferrajo, 
on  the  island  of  Elba,  were  intensely  excited  by 
the  sight  of  a  long,  low,  black  lugger  bearing 
down  for  that  port.  This  excitement  was  based 
on  curiosity  and  stimulated  by  dread.  If  it  had 
been  a  felucca  or  a  bombardo  or  other  of  the 
picturesque  rigs  most  commonly  seen  in  the  waters  that  bathe 
the  lovely  isles  and  coasts  of  Italy,  nothing  would  have  been 
thought  of  it.  But  a  lugger — that  was  quite  another  matter ! 
Who,  whence  was  she,  and  what  could  be  her  errand?  Lug- 
gers, so  far  as  the  islanders  knew,  were  chiefly  French,  and 
very  dangerous  to  peaceable  folk,  for  they  were  largely  priva- 
teers, not  to  say  pirates.  Their  square-headed  sails  on  two  or 
three  pole-masts,  as  the  case  might  be,  distinguished  them  at 
once  from  the  sharp-pointed  sails  common  to  those  Italian 
waters,  and  in  that  turbulent  period  always  aroused  appre- 
hension; for  they  carried  cannon  and  their  skilled  but  non- 
descript crews,  picked  up  from  all  nations,  were  reputed  to  be 
picturesquely  fierce.  Sometimes  they  even  made  descents  on 
the  coast,  and  carried  off  whatever  they  could  lay  their  hands 
on,  including,  of  course,  such  fair  maidens  as  met  their  sight. 

Hence  a  crowd  was  soon  collected  on  the  beacon -hill  of 
Porto  Ferrajo,  who  listened  with  bated  breath  to  the  oracular 
observations  of  the  great  local  authority  on  seafaring  matters, 
Tommaso  Tonti,  On  this  occasion  also  the  feminine  portion 
of  the  interested  crowd  gave  lively  attention  to  the  few  but 
important  words  of  a  young  maiden,  Ghita  Caraccioli,  who, 
although  but  recently  come  to  Elba,  had  won  the  confidence  of 

312 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  313 

her  new  associates  not  only  by  her  quiet  but  sensible  speech 
and  manner,  but  also  because  she  was  considered  to  have  the 
intelligence  attributed  to  one  who  has  traveled  and  seen  the 
world,  and  that  she  had  done  emphatically,  for  she  had  sailed 
from  Naples  Bay  to  Leghorn,  and  thence  to  Elba,  and  pre- 
sumably she  had  visited  other  remote  regions  of  the  globe. 

The  lugger,  meantime,  drew  nearer,  but  showed  no  colors. 
Should  the  deputy-governor  order  the  ancient  batteries  of  the 
port  to  open  on  her,  or  first  signal  her  by  hoisting  a  flag  ?  The 
latter  course  was  adopted.  In  reply  the  lugger  ran  up  the  flag 
of  England,  and  soon  after  dropped  a  light  kedge-anchor, 
carefully  out  of  range  of  the  shore  battery. 

That  she  should  be  an  English  vessel  was  almost  incredible. 
Who  ever  saw  an  English  lugger  ?  This  was  certainly  a  ruse, 
exclaimed  the  wise  heads. 

But  the  tremendous  question  was  at  least  temporarily 
settled  when  the  skipper  with  no  apparent  hesitation  pro- 
ceeded boldly  to  land,  in  his  shore  boat,  at  the  chief  dock.  So 
far,  so  good!  And  when  the  Captain  proceeded  to  meet  the 
magnates  of  the  place  and  answered  their  questions  without 
hesitation,  suspicion  was,  for  the  time,  allayed.  This  impression 
was  undoubtedly  strengthened  with  some  of  those  present  by 
the  fact  that  he  was  young,  tall,  and  handsome  to  the  full 
measure  required  of  a  truly  romantic  freebooter  of  the  seas, 
and  with  an  eye  that  quailed  not  though  it  pierced  to  the  very 
heart  of  woman.  He  had,  however,  to  stand  a  very  searching 
examination  as  to  his  name,  nationality,  the  reason  for  the 
peculiar  rig  of  his  ship,  and  his  aim  and  destination.  His  real 
name  was  Raoul  Yverne,  but  this  he  did  not  give,  stating  that 
he  was  of  English  descent,  by  name  Jacques  Smeet,  the  son 
of  Sir  Smeet.  He  meant  Smith,  but  could  not  quite  get  it 
right;  and  he  proved  this  statement  by  speaking  some  words 
of  English  as  only  a  Frenchman  speaks  it,  phrases  he  had  in 
reality  picked  up  when  a  prisoner  in  England,  as  likewise  had 
some  of  his  crew,  whose  English  was  even  less  correct  than  his 
own.  The  lugger  carried  the  British  colors  because  hailing 
from  Guernsey,  a  port  of  Great  Britain  where  the  people,  being 
of  Anglo-French  descent,  still  affected  a  rig  so  especially 
French  as  the  lugger.    These  plausible  statements  imposed 


314  WING  AND   WING 

in  a  measure  on  the  good  people  of  Elba  because  they  knew 
very  much  less  on  this  subject  than  even  Raoul  Yvernc,  self- 
constituted  scion  of  the  great  house  of  Smith,  But  there  were 
one  or  two  of  the  inhabitants  of  Porto  Ferrajo  who  to  the  last 
maintained  a  critical  and  suspicious  attitude  toward  this  alert 
French  sailor. 

Raoul  managed  to  exchange  some  searching,  significant 
glances  with  Ghita  Caraccioli  without  discovery,  and  later 
spoke  a  few  words  with  her  in  a  winding  lane  leading  to  the 
water^  where  he  went  ostensibly  to  give  some  orders  to  the 
coxswain  who  handled  the  lugger's  boat.  He  had  accepted 
the  invitation  of  the  deputy-governor  to  dine  with  him  and 
the  podesta;  the  former  scarcely  concealing  his  yearning  to 
probe  to  the  bottom  what  he  continued  to  consider  a  mystery 
which  needed  to  be  explained.  When  Raoul  was  returning  to 
his  ship  in  the  evening  he  met  Ghita  again  for  a  few  moments, 
most  of  the  frequenters  of  that  part  of  the  town  having  either 
retired  to  their  humble  cots  or  else  being  occupied  in  winding  up 
the  day  at  the  cabaret  of  a  smart  and  buxom  hostess,  Benedetta 
by  name.  Ghita  and  Raoul  were  lovers,  that  was  beyond 
question.  So  far  as  may  be  gathered  she  had  come  to  Elba 
with  her  great-uncle  to  meet  Raoul,  and  the  presence  of  the 
lugger  Wing  and  Wing,  or  Ving  el  Ving  as  he  pronounced  it, 
was  due  to  this  fact.  The  phrase  "  wing  and  wing,"  by  the  way, 
is  the  sea  term  applied  to  schooners  and  luggers  when  going 
directly  before  the  wind  with  their  sails  swung  out  on  each  side, 
like  the  wings  of  a  bird.  Glad  as  Ghita  was  to  see  her  Raoul, 
she  chided  him  for  taking  such  enormous  risks  to  meet  her, 
risks  that  must  ultimately  mean  death  to  one  or  both  of  them. 
She  also  urged  him  to  abandon  a  life  that  was  not  such  as  the 
world  esteemed.  But  he  gently  though  warmly  urged  his  own 
side  of  the  case  and  insisted  that  as  a  privateer,  which  is  very 
far  from  being  a  pirate,  he  was  every  inch  a  patriot  fighting 
the  enemies  of  his  country.  Then  she  pleaded  with  him  so 
lu-gently  to  abandon  his  heretical,  infidel  opinions,  held  by  him 
with  so  many  of  his  countrymen  at  that  time,  that  he  charged 
her  with  preferring  religion  to  him.  But  time  was  flying,  it 
would  be  dangerous  for  them  to  be  discovered,  and  begging 
him  again  to  leave  the  island  at  once,  Ghita  tore  herself  away. 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  315 

But  the  following  day  the  lugger  was  still  lying  in  port,  and 
Raoul  again  risked  his  fate  by  climbing  the  steep  streets  of 
Porto  Ferrajo  in  search  of  Ghita.  But,  although  his  temerity 
and  quickness  of  resource  were  amazing,  he  ventured  too 
much  in  risking  himself  away  from  his  ship  at  the  very  time 
when  an  English  frigate  was  stealing  around  a  headland  of 
the  isle.  This  frigate  was  one  of  Lord  Nelson's  scouts  cruising 
to  pick  up  exactly  such  predatory  craft  as  the  Wing  and  Wing. 
The  authorities,  too,  had  slept  over  the  matter  and  decided  to 
train  their  guns  on  the  lugger  and  hold  Raoul  in  any  event  as 
a  very  suspicious  character.  He  barely  succeeded  in  getting 
back  to  the  lugger,  together  with  his  right-hand  man,  Ithuel 
Bolt.  This  Ithuel  was  a  typical  all-around  Yankee,  who  had 
seen  almost  every  side  of  life,  was  as  quick  as  lightning,  and 
yet  had  not  reached  the  top  of  the  ladder  of  success.  Ithuel 
was  a  genuine  native  of  the  Granite  State  and  he  looked  it. 
He  was  tall,  lank,  keen-eyed,  shrewd,  courageous,  yet  cautious, 
when  he  had  no  more  than  his  rations  of  gin  or  pelil  vin  hlanc 
inside  his  skin  to  loosen  his  tongue;  cold-blooded,  but  not 
without  a  touch  of  human  affections.  He  had  been  a  farm- 
hand, a  carpenter,  mate  on  a  schooner,  had  been  pressed  by 
a  British  man-of-war,  had  deserted,  and  hence  lived  with  a 
halter  awaiting  him  if  caught  again.  He  hated  the  English  with 
the  most  genuine  sentiment  in  his  nature,  and  when  the  oppor- 
tunity offered  shipped  on  the  Wing  and  Wing,  yearning  to  do 
or  die  fighting  those  "'tamal  Britishers."  It  reflected  credit  on 
both  master  and  lieutenant  for  Ithuel  to  be  an  officer  on  the 
lugger.  It  may  be  added  in  conclusion  that  Ithuel  Bolt  spoke 
French  as  elegantly  and  correctly  as  Raoul  spoke  EngHsh. 

As  soon  as  Raoul  reached  the  harbor  he  saw  that  he  had  no 
time  to  lose,  for  with  a  light  breeze  the  frigate  Proserpine,  the 
very  cruiser  ordered  to  those  waters  to  clean  out  the  enemy's 
privateers,  was  now  almost  within  gunshot  of  the  French 
lugger.  But  as  Raoul  was  one  of  that  supreme  class  of  men 
of  action  who  are  coolest  when  danger  is  most  imminent, 
his  fleet  little  clipper  was  under  way  and  beating  around  a 
headland  almost  sooner  than  it  takes  to  write  it.  Everything 
went  like  clockwork  when  he  was  aboard. 

And  now  for  several  days  followed  a  series  of  desperate 


3i6  WING   AND   WING 

moves,  amazing  maneuvers,  stratagems,  and  frantic  attacks 
with  skilful  evasions  from  capture  exceedingly  interesting  and 
exciting  to  those  initiated  in  seamanship,  but  too  much  of  a 
puzzle  to  command  the  interest  of  landsmen.  Suffice  it  to 
state  that  on  one  occasion  an  attempt  was  made  on  the  Wing 
and  Wing  by  sending  a  felucca  toward  her,  apparently  chased 
by  several  man-of-war  boats,  the  purpose  being  to  give  the 
impression  that  they  were  pursuing  the  felucca  instead  of  the 
lugger,  which  was  lying  off  and  on  waiting  for  a  turn  of 
the  wind.  But  Raoul  saw  the  ruse  in  time  and  beat  back  the 
large  ship's  launches  with  severe  loss.  At  another  time,  when 
the  Wing  and  Wing  was  lying  for  the  night  inside  of  the  entrance 
to  the  river  Golo,  while  the  frigate  watched  outside  in  deep 
water  for  her  to  come  out,  a  fire-ship  was  floated  down  to  her 
with  the  utmost  subtlety.  But  once  more  Raoul,  by  his  alert- 
ness and  skill,  discerned  and  evaded  the  fire-ship  in  time  to 
save  the  lugger  from  being  blown  up. 

But  Raoul  found  at  last  that  too  long-continued  success 
may  make  one  over-bold,  to  his  ruin.  When  it  was  noised 
abroad  that  Admiral  Caraccioli,  of  the  Neapolitan  navy,  was 
to  be  hanged  at  the  yard-arm  of  a  ship  of  war  for  treason,  Raoul 
surmised  that  Ghita  would  be  one  of  the  vast  throng  gathered 
in  boats  to  see  this  grim  execution,  the  greatest  blot  on  the 
fame  of  that  great  seaman.  Lord  Nelson,  to  which  he  was  in- 
fluenced by  the  notorious  Lady  Hamilton.  Ghita  was  reputed 
to  be  the  granddaughter  of  the  doomed  Caraccioli,  w^hose 
tragedy  aroused  amazement  and  indignation  throughout 
Italy  and  Europe.  Raoul  longed  to  see  and  talk  with  Ghita 
again,  although  she  persisted  in  rejecting  marriage  because  of 
his  irreligion.  He  perceived  that  an  opportunity  to  see  her 
seemed  to  offer  itself  on  this  occasion.  Leaving  his  lugger 
outside  of  the  bay  on  the  south  to  wait  for  him  after  dark  at  a 
designated  point,  he  disguised  himself  quite  effectually,  as  did 
also  his  faithful  Ithuel,  who  was  a  help  indeed  in  any  arduous 
enterprise. 

As  Raoul  surmised,  he  did,  in  fact,  meet  Ghita.  She  had 
been  admitted  to  bid  farewell  to  her  grandfather,  whose  natural 
son  was  her  father.  After  receiving  his  blessing  she,  escorted 
by  her  uncle,  took  the  first  boat  that  offered  its  services  as  she 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  317 

left  the  ship.  AUhough  the  boatman  wore  the  picturesque 
garb  of  a  NeapoHtan  boatman,  Ghita's  searching  eye  recog- 
nized him  at  once,  and  she  chided  him  for  so  openly  risking  his 
life  for  the  sake  of  a  hopeless  attachment.  As  soon  as  the 
tragic  scene  was  over,  they  headed  toward  Sorrento  to  pick 
up  Ithuel,  waiting  for  them  in  the  lugger's  boat.  It  was 
Raoul's  purpose  to  drop  Ghita  and  her  companion  at  a  spot 
convenient  for  a  landing  near  her  home,  and  then  he  and  Ithuel 
would  look  up  the  Wing  and  Wing. 

Darkness  was  now  coming  on.  But  not  before  they  met 
the  watchful  Yankee.  Raoul's  skiff  was  then  left  on  the  beach 
where  Raoul  had  found  it,  and  the  four  in  the  yawl  headed 
down  the  bay  to  land  Ghita.  But  they  were  soon  aware  that  a 
large  vessel,  evidently  a  ship  of  war,  was  following  in  their  wake, 
driving  before  a  fresh  breeze.  Raoul  recognized  it  as  his  old 
antagonist  the  frigate  Proserpine.  There  was  nothing  im- 
mediately alarming  in  this  incident.  It  was  a  little  startling, 
however,  to  be  hailed  from  the  frigate  with  an  offer  to  take 
the  boat  in  tow  so  long  as  they  were  both  going  the  same  way. 
Ghita  instinctively  opposed  this,  and  was  still  more  strenuous 
when  it  was  suggested  by  the  ofhcer  of  the  deck,  of  course  as  a 
kindly  act,  that  they  should  come  on  board  the  frigate,  where 
they  would  be  more  comfortable  than  in  the  boat.  But  Raoul 
was  so  fearless,  and  so  confident  that  his  own  and  Tthuel's 
disguise  would  be  entirely  sufificient  to  disarm  suspicion,  that 
he  readily  accepted  the  invitation.  They  were  soon  questioned 
as  to  their  knowledge  of  the  movements  of  the  lugger,  v.'hile 
Ghita  and  her  uncle  were  sent  below  for  more  comfortable 
accommodations.  So  far  all  was  well.  But  such  was  Raoul's 
over -confidence  that  he  showed  httle  reticence  as  to  the  lugger. 
This  naturally  aroused  suspicion.  It  did  not  take  long  for  one 
or  two,  who  had  had  a  previous  glimpse  of  Raoul,  to  recognize 
him  even  under  his  disguise.  Ithuel's  singular  disguise  was 
then  pulled  off,  and  he  stood  forth  as  a  full-fledged  Yankee 
and  a  deserter  from  an  English  ship.  Ghita  was  summoned  to 
identify  Raoul.  Not  fully  appreciating  the  possibilities,  and 
over-conscientious  as  a  pious  devotee,  she  swore  to  his  identity, 
and  to  her  horror  found  too  late  that  she  had  probably  sworn 
away  the  life  of  her  lover. 


3i8  WING  AND  WING 

Raoul  and  Ithuel  were  then  placed  under  arrest,  the  one 
as  a  spy,  the  other  as  a  deserter,  and  were  brought  before  a 
court-martial  the  following  day.  It  was  conceded  by  the 
best  judgment  of  the  court  that  there  was  great  palliation  for 
Ithuel,  as  he  was  an  American  and  had  been  impressed.  Hence 
he  was  released  on  condition  that  he  renew  his  service  in  the 
British  navy.  But  although  Raoul  had  been  invited  on  board 
and  did  not  ask  it  himself,  which  practically  nullified  the 
charge  of  being  a  spy,  one  or  two  of  the  court,  on  the  ground 
of  his  disguise,  were  so  urgent  for  his  conviction  that  he  was 
finally  condemned  to  die  on  the  following  day.  But  Captain 
Cuff,  of  the  frigate,  and  others  of  the  court  were  so  doubtful 
of  the  justice  of  the  sentence  that  urgent  appeal  was  made, 
when  the  sentence  was  sent  for  approval  to  Lord  Nelson,  that 
a  respite  be  at  least  allowed.  The  impression  made  by  the 
unjust  fate  of  Admiral  Caraccioli  now  had  its  effect.  Three 
minutes  before  time  was  up  for  the  execution  three  guns  were 
heard,  the  signal  for  a  favorable  reply,  and  to  the  great  relief 
of  the  crew  and  most  of  the  officers  Raoul  was  returned  to  prison 
quarters  below,  with  another  chance  of  life.  Two  Italians, 
substantial  citizens  of  Elba,  who  were  great  palaverers  and 
happened  to  be  on  board  the  frigate,  were  permitted  to  see 
Raoul  in  his  cell  during  the  evening,  and  engaged  in  a  lively 
metaphysical  conversation,  to  which  Raoul  added  a  word  now 
and  then  out  of  politeness.  Suddenly  to  him,  seated  near  the 
open  port  of  his  cell,  came  the  whispering  voice  of  Ithuel  Bolt, 
who  was  in  the  main  channels.  Raoul's  yawl,  he  was  softly 
told,  was  about  to  go  ashore  with  Ghita  and  her  uncle,  who 
was  expected  to  do  the  rowing,  the  weather  being  fine.  The 
boat  would  slip  under  the  port  in  five  minutes,  and  a  rope  was 
attached  to  the  main  chains  by  which  Raoul  could  lower  him- 
self into  the  boat  at  the  word  and  at  the  instant  when  the 
Italians  were  most  loudly  vociferating,  they  having  in  the 
mean  time  changed  their  position,  absorbed  in  talk. 

All  happened  as  planned,  and  the  boat  with  its  precious 
freight  was  several  hundred  yards  away  from  the  ship,  when, 
at  the  change  of  the  watch,  Raoul's  escape  was  discovered. 
It  took  but  a  few  moments  for  five  large  boats  to  get  away  in 
hot  pursuit.     Fortunately  the  wind  was  low,  the  night  dark,  and 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  319 

the  oars  of  the  yawl  muffled.  But,  naturally,  it  required  the 
utmost  skill  of  Raoul  and  Ithuel  to  evade  the  eager  pursuers. 
When  all  seemed  lost  the  boat  darted  into  a  concealed  cave, 
unknown  to  the  enemy,  and  there  lay  hidden  until  the  pursuit 
was  ended  in  that  direction.  A  few  hours  later  Raoul  again 
stepped  foot  on  the  deck  of  his  own  Wing  and  Wing. 

But  shortly  after,  running  down  the  southern  side  of  the 
bay  and  keeping  too  near  the  shore,  the  Wing  and  Wing  ran  on 
a  dangerous  reef  and  her  career  was  stopped  for  the  time. 
Raoul  at  once  set  about  floating  her,  at  the  same  time  landing 
his  guns  and  forming  a  battery  among  the  rocks.  It  was  not 
long  before  the  lugger's  predicament  was  discovered,  and  a 
number  of  British  boats  was  sent  in  to  capture  lugger  and  crew. 
The  fight  was  tremendous.  The  assailants  lost  heavily.  At 
last  Raoul  Yverne  was  mortally  wounded,  and  this  practically 
ended  the  battle.  Ghita  remained  with  her  lover  to  the  last, 
soothing  his  pain  and  exhorting  him  to  die  in  the  faith,  not  with 
entire  success. 

In  the  mean  time  Ithuel  Bolt  got  out  of  the  way  and  returned 
to  America,  while  some  of  the  French  survivors  managed  to 
get  away  with  the  lugger,  and  made  for  the  open  sea.  She  was 
too  light  in  ballast,  however.  A  fleet  of  ships  were  sent  in 
pursuit  and  were  closing  in  about  her,  when  a  sudden  severe 
squall  swept  over  the  sea.  When  it  passed  over  it  was  found 
that  the  Wing  and  Wing  had  gone  down  with  all  on  board. 


WYANDOTTE;  OR,  THE  HUTTED  KNOLL  (1843) 

A  story  of  the  beginnings  of  the  American  Revolution,  detailing  the  life  and 
sufferings  of  an  isolated  family  of  culture  and  refinement  in  the  middle  of  New 
York  State,  in  a  settlement  subject  to  the  attacks  of  savages.  The  object  of 
the  writer  is  to  show  that  different  varieties  of  the  human  race  are  true  to  the 
governing  impulses  of  their  educations,  habits,  modes  of  thinking,  and  natures, 
and  that  the  red  man  has  his  morality,  as  well  as  his  white  brother.  The  scene 
is  on  a  tract  called  Willoughby's  Patent,  in  what  is  now  Otsego  County. 

APTAIN  WILLOUGHBY,  an  officer  of  the 
British  army,  who  had  seen  many  years'  service, 
married  an  American  wife  and,  after  the  birth  of 
a  son  and  a  daughter,  sold  his  commission  in  order 
to  pass  the  remainder  of  his  days  in  the  pursuits 
of  agriculture.  Among  the  members  of  his 
family  was  an  adopted  child,  the  daughter  of  a 
deceased  officer  and  friend.  On  the  frontiers 
he  had  become  acquainted  with  a  Tuscarora 
named  Wyandotte,  a  sort  of  half-outcast  from  his  own  people, 
who  had  attached  himself  to  the  whites,  among  whom  he  was 
known  as  Nick  or  Saucy  Nick.  Captain  Willoughby  had  learned 
from  Nick  of  a  tract  of  land  a  day's  march  beyond  the  Susque- 
hanna River,  lying  on  a  lake  formed  by  an  old  beaver -dam.  A 
bargain  was  made  with  the  Tuscarora,  and  under  his  guidance 
Captain  Willoughby  and  surveyors  visited  the  place,  and  found 
it  all  that  the  Indian  had  represented.  The  beaver  pond 
covered  at  least  four  hundred  acres  of  low  bottom-land,  while 
nearly  three  thousand  acres  of  higher  river-fiat,  covered  with 
beech  and  maple,  lay  around  it. 

Captain  Willoughby  obtained  a  patent  for  some  six  or  seven 
thousand  acres,  bought  the  rights  of  the  nearest  Indians,  and 
early  one  spring,  leaving  his  wife  and  children  in  Albany,  set 
out  with  a  party  to  make  arrangements  to  settle  it.  In  the 
center  of  the  pond  was  an  island  of  five  or  six  acres,  a  rocky 
knoll  rising  about  forty  feet  above  the  water  and  covered  with 

320 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  321 

noble  pines.  To  this  island  the  Captain  transferred  all  his 
stores  and  here  he  built  his  cabin,  or  hut,  from  which  it  was 
afterward  called  the  Hutted  Knoll.  By  removing  the  beaver- 
dam  and  draining  the  lake,  a  large  farm  was  obtained  without 
the  trouble  of  cutting  the  timber.  The  flats  soon  dried  in  the 
sun,  and  the  following  autumn  saw  an  enormous  yield  of  Indian 
corn  and  other  crops. 

Captain  Willoughby  rejoined  his  family  later  in  Albany, 
where  he  spent  the  winter,  leaving  in  garrison  at  the  Hutted 
Knoll  Sergeant  Joyce,  an  old  soldier,  supported  by  Nick,  a 
miller,  a  mason,  a  carpenter,  and  three  axmen.  In  the  following 
spring  the  Captain's  only  son  Robert  obtained  an  ensigncy  in 
the  60th  or  Royal  Americans,  and  the  rest  of  the  family  went 
to  their  new  home. 

During  the  winter  suitable  houses  had  been  built  and  the 
place  fortified.  On  the  north  side  of  the  knoll,  the  former 
island,  was  a  perpendicular  precipice  about  forty  feet  high. 
In  front  of  this,  enclosing  an  area  of  two  hundred  by  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet,  was  built  a  blind  wall  of  masonry  six  feet  high, 
with  a  gateway  in  the  middle  of  its  southern  face.  Within  this 
wall  was  a  building  of  massive,  squared  pine  timber,  enclosing  a 
court  of  about  a  hundred  by  a  hundred  and  seventy-five  feet, 
into  which  all  the  windows  opened.  The  massive  gates  to  this 
enclosure  were  finished  but  not  hung,  standing  against  the 
adjacent  walls. 

"Well,  Wilhelmina,"  asked  the  gratified  husband,  when  he 
saw  how  well  his  plans  had  been  carried  out,  "can  you  give  up 
the  comforts  of  Albany  for  a  home  like  this  ?  It  is  not  probable 
that  I  shall  ever  build  again,  whatever  Bob  may  do  when  he 
comes  after  me.  This  structure,  part  house,  part  barrack,  part 
fort,  must  be  our  residence  the  remainder  of  our  days." 

"It  is  all-sufficient,  Hugh.  It  has  space,  comfort,  warmth, 
coolness,  and  security.  Only  attend  to  the  security.  Remem- 
ber how  far  we  are  removed  from  succor,  and  how  sudden  the 
Indians  are  in  their  attacks." 

"There  are  no  Indians  in  this  part  of  the  country  who  would 
dare  molest  a  settlement  like  ours.     We  count  thirteen  able- 
bodied  men,  besides  seven  women,  and  could  use,  in  an  emer- 
gency, seventeen  to  eighteen  muskets." 
A.  D.,  VOL.  V. —  21 


322  WYANDOTTE 

The  family  lived  here  in  comfort  and  security  ten  years 
until  May,  1775,  when  Captain  Willoughby's  son  Robert,  then 
twenty-seven  years  old  and  a  major  in  his  regiment,  brought 
to  his  father  the  news  of  the  death  in  England  of  Sir  Harry 
Willoughby,  Bart.,  by  which  he  (the  father)  became  Sir  Hugh 
Willoughby.  But  Captain  Willoughby,  who  had  lived  long 
enough  in  America  to  become  somewhat  liberal  in  his  ideas, 
said:  "  What  is  an  empty  baronetcy  to  a  happy  husband  like  me, 
here  in  the  wilds  of  America  ?  " 

"But  the  title  should  not  be  lost,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby; 
"it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  our  son  one  day." 

"I  see  how  it  is,  Beulah;  your  mother  has  no  notion  to  lose 
the  right  of  being  called  Lady  Willoughby." 

"If  you  remain  Mr.  Hugh  Willoughby,  she  will  remain 
Mrs.  Hugh  Willoughby;  but,  papa,  it  might  be  useful 
to  Bob." 

"  Let  him  wait,  then,  till  I  am  out  of  the  way,  when  he  may 
claim  his  own." 

Major  Willoughby  had  still  more  important  news  for  his 
father,  which  he  imparted  to  him  and  the  chaplain,  Rev.  Mr. 
Woods,  in  a  private  interview — the  news  of  the  opening  of 
hostilities  between  the  colonies  and  the  motherland.  He  had 
come  fresh  from  the  battles  of  Lexington  and  Concord,  in  both 
of  which  he  had  taken  part,  as  the  bearer  of  despatches  from 
General  Gage  to  Governor  Tryon,  and  had  passed  through  the 
country  under  a  feigned  name. 

"  Governor  Tryon  thinks,"  said  the  son,  in  a  later  conversa- 
tion, "that  with  your  estate  and  new  rank,  and  with  local 
influence,  you  might  be  very  serviceable  in  sustaining  the  royal 
cause;  for  it  is  not  to  be  concealed  that  this  is  likely  to  take 
the  character  of  an  open  and  wide-spread  revolt  against  the 
authority  of  the  crown." 

"General  Tryon  does  me  too  much  honor,"  answered  the 
Captain  coldly.  "My  estate  is  small,  and  as  for  the  new  rank, 
it  is  not  likely  the  colonists  will  care  much  for  that,  if  they 
disregard  the  rights  of  the  King.  Still  you  have  acted  like  a 
son  in  running  the  risk  you  do.  Bob,  and  I  pray  God  you  may 
get  back  to  your  regiment  in  safety." 

"This  is  a  cordial  to  my  hopes,  sir;  for  it  would  pain  me  to 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  323 

believe  you  think  it  my  duty,  because  I  was  bom  in  the  colonies, 
to  throw  up  my  commission  and  take  side  with  the  rebels." 

"I  do  not  conceive  that  to  be  your  duty,  any  more  than  I 
conceive  it  to  be  mine  to  take  sides  against  them  because  I 
happened  to  be  bom  in  England.  The  difficulty  here  is  to 
know  which  is  one's  country.  It  is  a  family  quarrel  at  the  best, 
and  we  must  remember  that  there  are  two  sides  to  the  question; 
and  may  there  not  be  two  results  to  the  war  ?  " 

"I  think  not,  sir.  England  is  no  power  to  be  defied  by 
colonies  insignificant  as  these." 

"This  is  well  enough  for  a  king's  officer.  Major  Willoughby; 
but  these  colonies  are  a  nation  in  extent  and  number,  and  are 
not  so  easily  put  down  when  the  spirit  of  liberty  is  up  and  doing 
among  them." 

The  Major  listened  with  pain  and  wonder,  as  his  father 
spoke  eamestly  with  a  flush  on  his  fine  countenance;  but,  un- 
used to  debate  with  his  parent,  remained  silent.  His  mother, 
however,  who  was  thoroughly  loyal  at  heart,  exclaimed : 

"Why,  Willoughby,  you  really  incline  to  rebellion!  I,  even 
I,  bom  in  the  colonies,  think  them  wrong  to  resist  their  anointed 
king  and  sovereign  prince." 

"Ah,  Wilhelmina,"  answered  the  Captain  more  mildly,  "you 
have  a  true  colonist's  admiration  of  home.  But,  as  I  was  old 
enough  when  I  left  England  to  appreciate  what  I  saw  and  knew, 
I  cannot  feel  this  provincial  admiration.  I  must  now  call  my 
people  together  and  let  them  know  this  news.  It  is  not  fair 
to  conceal  a  civil  war." 

"My  dear  sir!"  exclaimed  the  Major,  in  concern,  "are  you 
not  wrong — precipitate,  I  mean  ?  Is  it  not  better  to  give  your- 
self time  for  reflection,  to  await  events?" 

"I  have  thought  of  all  this,  Bob,  during  the  night,  and  you 
cannot  change  my  purpose.  I  have  already  sent  directions  to 
have  the  whole  settlement  collected  on  the  lawn;  I  will  go  out 
and  tell  the  truth,  then  we  shall  at  least  have  the  security  of 
self-approbation.  If  you  escape  the  danger  of  being  sold  by 
Nick,  my  son,  I  think  you  have  little  to  fear  from  any  other." 

"By  Nick!"  repeated  several  voices,  in  surprise.  "Surely, 
you  cannot  suspect  as  old  and  tried  a  follower  as  the  Tuscarora ! " 

"An  old  follower,  certainly;   but  I  have  never  suffered  my 


324  WYANDOTTE 

distrust  of  that  fellow  to  go  to  sleep — it  is  unsafe  with  an  In- 
dian, unless  vou  have  a  strong  hold  on  his  gratitude." 

Before  Major  Willoughby  returned  to  his  regiment,  he 
suggested  that  the  house  be  stockaded,  as  there  might  be  dan- 
ger of  an  attack  by  savages.  A  line  of  circumvallation  was 
accordingly  drawn  at  a  distance  of  some  thirty  yards  from  the 
house,  and  a  strong  palisade  was  erected  of  chestnut  trunks, 
with  a  single  gate  for  entrance. 

As  the  war  had  now  actually  begun,  the  intended  movements 
of  Major  Willoughby  were  kept  a  profound  secret.  The  night 
before  his  departure  to  join  his  regiment  in  Boston,  Nick  was 
sent  into  the  woods  with  the  Major's  pack,  with  instructions  to 
meet  him  the  following  day  at  a  designated  point.  The  next 
morning  the  Major  strolled  out  with  Mr.  Woods  until  he  reached 
the  path  leading  to  the  Susquehanna,  when  he  bade  him  good- 
by  and  hastened  on  his  journey  eastward. 

The  Major  had  scarcely  gone  when  Evert  Beekman,  who 
held  a  patent  in  the  neighborhood,  arrived,  attended  by  a  party 
of  chain-bearers  and  hunters.  He  had  been  offered  the  colonelcy 
of  one  of  the  regiments  raised  by  the  colony  of  New  York,  and 
had  come  to  see  Beulah,  the  Major's  sister,  to  whom  he  was  af- 
fianced, before  going  into  the  field.  Colonel  Beekman  had  a 
brother,  a  captain  in  a  royal  infantry  regiment,  who  had  thrown 
up  his  commission  to  accept  a  majority  in  a  colonial  regiment, 
and  he  expressed  the  hope  that  Major  Willoughby  might  be 
induced  to  accept  a  regiment  in  the  patriot  cause. 

The  following  day  Evert  Beekman  and  Beulah  W^illoughby 
were  married  in  the  little  chapel  by  Chaplain  Woods;  and  it 
was  past  the  middle  of  June  before  the  Colonel  began  to  think 
of  tearing  himself  away  from  his  wife  to  assume  the  duties 
awaiting  him.  On  the  evening  of  the  25th  of  that  month, 
when  all  were  taking  tea  on  the  lawn,  Nick  returned  bringing 
two  notes  from  the  Major,  one  to  announce  his  arrival  and  the 
other,  a  brief  one  dated  June  i8th,  to  tell  of  his  safety  after 
the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill.  For  the  particulars  of  the  battle 
they  were  referred  to  Nick,  who  had  been  an  eye-witness. 
The  Indian  gave  a  graphic  account  of  the  engagement,  which  he 
had  witnessed  from  behind  a  stone  wall,  taking  no  part  in  it, 
?is  no  scalps  were  taken  and  there  was  nothing  for  a  red  man  to  do. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  325 

Toward  the  close  of  the  battle  Nick  had  gone  across,  by  per- 
mission of  the  Major,  and  had  brought  from  the  field  some 
tangible  evidences  of  his  presence  in  the  shape  of  an  epaulet, 
a  watch,  five  or  six  pairs  of  silver  buckles,  and  divers  other 
articles  of  plunder,  which  he  carried  in  a  small  bundle. 

In  November  Captain  Willoughby  removed  his  family  to  Al- 
bany for  the  winter.  Colonel  Beekman  passed  a  few  happy 
weeks  with  them,  and  in  time  the  Captain  took  from  him  so 
strong  a  bias  in  favor  of  the  rights  of  the  colonies  that  Beekman 
himself  scarcely  rejoiced  more  when  he  heard  of  success  alight- 
ing on  the  American  arms. 

"It  will  all  come  right  in  the  end,"  he  assured  Mr.  Woods. 
"They  will  open  their  eyes  at  home,  ere  long,  and  the  injus- 
tice of  taxing  the  colonies  will  be  admitted.  Then  all  will 
come  round  again,  the  King  will  be  as  much  loved  as  ever,  and 
England  and  America  will  be  all  the  better  friends  for  having 
a  mutual  respect." 

Tvlaud,  Captain  Willoughby's  adopted  daughter,  had 
many  suitors;  but  the  winter  passed  and  none  had  made  any 
visible  impression  on  her  heart.  In  April  the  family  returned 
to  the  Knoll,  when  Captain  Willoughby,  far  from  military 
operations,  busied  himself  with  his  crops,  his  mills,  and  his 
improvements.  Beulah,  who  had  been  married  a  twelve- 
month, was  with  the  family  with  her  infant  son  Evert.  Major 
Robert  had  been  absent  nearly  as  long,  and  Nick,  who  had  dis- 
appeared soon  after  his  return  from  Boston,  had  not  since  been 
seen  in  the  valley.  A  letter  received  from  the  Major,  who  was 
with  Sir  William  Howe  in  New  York,  contained  a  postscript 
that  greatly  interested  Maud.  "Tell  dearest  Maud,"  he 
said,  "that  charming  women  have  ceased  to  charm  me,  all  my 
affections  being  centered  in  the  dear  objects  at  the  Hutted 
Knoll.  If  I  had  met  with  a  single  woman  I  admired  half  as 
much  as  I  do  her  pretty  self,  I  should  have  married  long  since." 

This  letter  became  Maud's  constant  companion,  whether 
in  the  privacy  of  her  chamber  or  in  her  solitary  walks  in  the 
woods.  One  day  in  September  she  had  wandered  to  a  rocky 
eminence,  where  a  rude  seat  had  been  placed  commanding  a 
view  of  the  valley,  when  she  was  startled  by  shouts  below  and 
the  sight  of  men,  women,  and  children  running  from  the  houses 


326  WYANDOTTE 

with  frantic  gestures.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  fly  down  the 
path  by  which  she  had  come,  but  the  next  moment  she  saw  it 
was  too  late,  for  a  dark  body  of  Indians  poured  over  the  cliffs 
near  the  mills  until  seventy  or  eighty  warriors  had  come  into 
sight.  While  she  was  watching  events  below,  a  footstep  be- 
hind startled  her,  and  turning  she  saw  coming  toward  her  a  man 
in  a  hunting-shirt  ard  carrying  a  rifle  on  his  arm.  As  soon  as  he 
saw  her  he  raised  his  hands  in  surprise  and  sprang  toward  her, 
while  she  sank  on  her  seat  expecting  the  blow  of  a  tomahawk. 
"Maud — dearest  Maud,  do  you  not  know  me?  Lookup, 
dear  girl,  and  show  that  at  least  you  do  not  fear  me!" 

"Bob!"  said  the  half-senseless  Maud,  "why  do  you  come  at 
this  fearful  instant?  Would  to  God  your  visit  had  been  better 
timed!" 

"Why  do  you  say  this,  my  dearest  Maud?" 
"See  for  yourself — the  savages  have  come,  and  the  whole 
dreadful  scene  is  before  you." 

The  Major  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and  a  few 
pertinent  questions  drew  all  the  other  circumstances  from  Maud. 
"But  why  are  you  here?"  asked  she.     "You  certainly  can 
have  no  connection  with  these  savages!" 

"I  came  alone.  That  party  and  its  objects  are  utter 
strangers  to  me." 

Major  Willoughby  had  a  pocket-glass  by  means  of  which 
he  could  watch  the  movements  at  the  Knoll  and  in  the  surround- 
ing valley.  He  saw  two  men,  whom  he  recognized  as  Mike 
O'Hearn  and  Joel  Strides,  leave  the  palisade  and  come  in  their 
direction;  and  he  concluded  that  they  were  in  search  of  Maud. 
By  Maud's  advice,  he  hid  himself  as  they  approached  at  twilight, 
and  followed  at  a  safe  distance  when  they  set  out  to  return  to  the 
palisade.  Mike,  Maud  had  informed  him,  was  to  be  trusted, 
but  no  confidence  was  to  be  put  in  Joel  Strides. 

As  soon  as  Maud  was  safe  within  the  stockade  she  in- 
formed the  Captain  of  his  son's  arrival;  and  that  night  a  rope 
was  let  down  over  the  precipice  and  the  Major  was  drawn  up 
into  a  window.  While  his  parents  and  all  the  immediate 
members  of  the  family  were  rejoiced  to  see  him,  it  was  deemed 
best  to  keep  his  arrival  secret  as  far  as  possible.  Meanwhile 
the  invaders,  many  of  whom  were  believed  to  be  white  men  in 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  327 

the  disguise  of  Indians,  had  shown  no  intention  of  making  an 
attack ;  and  in  the  morning  the  Captain  determined  to  send  out  a 
flag  of  truce  to  discover,  if  possible,  their  intentions,  and  to 
ascertain  to  which  party  they  belonged.  Captain  Willoughby 
suggested  to  Joel  Strides  that  he  should  be  the  bearer  of  the 
flag.  Joel  agreed  to  go  if  another  would  accompany  him,  when 
Major  Willoughby,  who  had  listened  to  the  conversation  from 
an  adjoining  room,  entered  and  announced  that  he  would  be 
the  one  to  run  the  risk.  Strides  was  taken  by  surprise  at 
seeing  the  Major,  whom  he  recognized,  but  kept  his  discovery 
to  himself.  "The  gentleman's  a  stranger  to  me,"  he  hypo- 
critically said ;  "but  as  the  Captain  has  belief  in  him,  I  must  have 
the  same." 

Captain  Willoughby,  seeing  no  means  of  retreat,  was  fain  to 
yield.  After  a  few  minutes'  private  conversation  with  the  Major 
he  sent  the  two  out  together.  They  were  seen  to  meet  persons 
from  the  invading  party,  then  to  pass  behind  the  rocks,  after 
which  no  more  was  heard  from  either  until  near  nightfall,  when 
Joel  returned  alone.  He  reported  that  they  had  been  taken 
to  the  house  of  the  miller,  where  the  chiefs  received  them 
amicably.  When  the  Major  asked  the  motive  of  their  coming 
they  made  a  demand  for  the  surrender  of  the  Hut  and  all  it  con- 
tained to  the  authorities  of  the  Continental  Congress.  The 
Major  tried  to  persuade  a  white  man,  who  professed  to  hold  the 
legal  authority  for  his  acts,  of  Captain  Willoughby's  neutrality, 
when  his  argument  was  met  by  the  demand  if  it  were  likely  a 
man  who  had  a  son  in  the  royal  army,  and  who  kept  that  son 
secreted  in  his  own  house,  would  be  very  indifferent  to  the  suc- 
cess of  the  royal  cause, 

"How  they  found  out,"  said  Joel,  "that  the  Major  was  at 
the  Hut  is  a  little  strange,  seein'  that  none  of  us  knowed  of  it; 
but  they've  got  extraor'nary  means  nowadays." 

"And  did  Major  Willoughby  admit  his  true  character, 
when  charged  with  being  in  the  King's  service?" 

"He  did — and  like  a  gentleman.  He  only  insisted  that  his 
sole  ar'nd  out  here  was  to  see  his  folks.  But  they  laughed  at 
this  like  all  natur'  and  ordered  the  Major  shut  up  in  the  buttery, 
with  a  warrior  at  the  door  for  a  sentinel." 

Strides  then  told  how  they  had  examined  him  closely  in 


328  WYANDOTTE 

regard  to  the  defenses  of  the  Hut,  the  strength  of  the  garrison, 
number  of  arms,  ammunition,  etc.,  and  averred  that  he  had 
o-iven  an  exaggerated  account  of  their  resources. 

That  night,  at  nine  o'clock,  when  the  guard  for  the  first 
half  of  the  night  was  paraded,  Sergeant  Joyce  reported  that 
one  half  the  men  had  deserted,  leaving  only  fifteen  to  defend  the 
place.  Captain  Willoughby  had  the  rest  of  his  garrison  drawn 
up  in  line,  announced  the  desertions,  and  gave  any  one  leave 
to  depart  who  did  not  wish  to  remain  in  his  service.  While 
he  was  giving  his  last  instructions  to  Joyce,  he  discovered,  by 
the  light  of  the  lantern,  a  figure  standing  at  no  great  distance. 
Joyce  raised  his  lantern  and  disclosed  the  red  face  of  an  Indian. 

"Nick!"  exclaimed  the  Captain,  "is  that  you?  How  have 
you  entered  the  palisades?" 

"Tree  no  good  to  stop  Injin.  Can't  do  it  wid  branches, 
how  do  it  widout?" 

"This  is  not  answering  my  question,  fellow.  By  what 
means  did  you  pass?" 

"What  means?  Injin  means,  sartin.  Come  like  cat, 
jump  like  deer,  slide  like  snake.  Nick  great  Tuscarora  chief; 
know  well  how  warrior  march,  when  he  dig  up  hatchet." 

"And  Nick  has  been  a  great  hanger-on  of  garrisons,  and 
should  know  the  use  that  I  can  make  of  his  back.  You  will 
remember,  Tuscarora,  that  I  have  had  you  flogged  more  than 
once  in  my  day." 

This  was  said  menacingly,  and  with  more  warmth,  perhaps, 
than  was  prudent.  Nick's  visage  became  dark  as  a  thunder- 
cloud; and  it  seemed,  by  the  moral  writhing  of  his  spirit  as  if 
every  disgracing  blow  he  had  received  was  torturing  his  flesh 
anew,  blended  with  the  keenest  feelings  of  ignominy.  Captain 
Willoughby  was  startled  at  the  effect  of  his  words,  but  re- 
mained in  dignified  quiet,  awaiting  the  workings  of  the  Tus- 
carora's  mind.     It  was  more  than  a  minute  before  Nick  replied: 

"Cap'in  ole  man,  but  he  no  got  wisdom  enough  for  gray 
hair.  He  flog  warrior's  back;  make  blood  come.  Dat  bad 
enough;  worse  to  put  finger  on  ole  sore,  and  make  'e  pain  an' 
shame  come  back  ag'in." 

"Well  well,  say  no  more  about  it,  Nick.  Here's  a  dollar 
to  keep  you  in  rum,  and  we  will  talk  of  other  matters." 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  329 

But  Nick  paid  no  heed  to  the  money,  and  the  Captain  returned 
it  to  his  pocket. 

"My  son,  Wyandotte!"  exclaimed  the  mother.  "Bring 
you  any  tidings  from  my  boy  ?  " 

"No  bring  tidin' — too  heavy;   bring  letter." 

A  cry  arose  in  common  from  the  three  women  as  Nick  drew 
the  missive  from  a  fold  of  his  garment  and  handed  it  to  IVIrs. 
Willoughby,  who  read: 

"Trust  to  your  defenses  and  nothing  else.  I  am  suspected, 
if  not  known.  If  Nick  is  honest,  he  can  tell  you  more;  if  false, 
this  note  will  be  shown,  even  if  it  be  delivered.  Secure  the 
inner  gates,  and  depend  more  on  the  house  than  the  pahsade. 
Fear  nothing  for  me — my  life  can  be  in  no  danger." 

Nick  was  then  questioned  closely  concerning  the  num- 
bers and  disposition  of  the  hostile  force,  and  answered  with  seem- 
ing honesty,  but  not  altogether  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Captain, 
who  was  inchned  to  doubt  him.  But  Maud  believed  him  honest 
and  begged  her  father  to  trust  him. 

"Father!"  cried  she  with  simple  energy,  "I  will  answer  lor 
his  honesty.  I  have  known  Wyandotte  from  childhood,  and  he 
has  ever  been  my  friend.  He  promised  me  to  be  true  to  Bob,  and 
he  has  ever  kept  his  word."  Captain  Willoughby,  though 
little  disposed  to  judge  Nick  favorably,  was  struck  with  the 
gleam  of  manly  kindness  on  the  Indian's  face  as  he  gazed  at 
the  glowing  cheek  of  the  beautiful  girl. 

"Nick  gal's  friend,"  he  said  quietly.  "What  Nick  say, 
Nick  mean.     What  Nick  mean,  he  do." 

To  make  sure  of  the  Tuscorora,  he  was  shut  up  that  night, 
at  the  suggestion  of  Joel  Strides,  in  a  room  with  Michael  O'Heam. 
The  next  morning  it  was  discovered  that  the  beds  of  three  more 
men  had  not  been  occupied,  and  on  investigation  it  was  found 
that  they  had  not  only  gone  but  had  carried  with  them  their 
arms  and  accouterments. 

"Let  us  call  Joel,"  said  the  Captain;  "he  may  throw  some 
light  on  the  matter." 

But  when  they  entered  Strides's  quarters,  the  place  was 
empty.  Men,  women,  and  children  were  gone,  and  the  rooms 
had  evidently  been  stripped.  The  Captain's  heart  sank  within 
him,  for  this  left  the  Hut  to  be  defended  by  its  owner,  Sergeant 


330  WYANDOTTE 

Joyce,  Jamie  Allen,  Blodgett,  three  negroes,  and  Mike  and  the 
Indian,  nine  in  all.  He  immediately  went  to  release  the  two 
last,  and  was  astounded  to  lind  their  room  empty.  They  had 
escaped  by  means  of  the  bed-cord  from  the  window. 

Captain  Willoiighby  was  now  seriously  debating  whether 
it  would  not  be  best  to  leave  the  Hut  and  to  try  to  escape  with 
his  family  through  the  woods,  when  the  return  of  Mike  changed 
his  plans.  Mike  explained  his  seeming  desertion  by  saying 
that  Nick  had  persuaded  him  that  the  Captain's  interests  would 
be  best  subserved  if  they  made  an  investigation  outside.  The 
Irishman  had  got  inside  the  palisade  on  his  return  through 
an  ingeniously  contrived  opening  which  Nick  had  shown  him, 
and  which  the  Indian  averred  Joel  Strides  had  made  by  sawing 
through  one  of  the  posts  above  and  below  and  fitting  it  with 
hinges.  Mike  had  succeeded  in  talking  with  the  Major,  who 
sent  word  to  his  father  to  hold  out  to  the  last;  that  though  his 
escape  from  his  captors  seemed  at  present  impossible,  he  did 
not  abandon  hope. 

The  Captain  now  changed  his  plans  and  determined  to 
make  a  serious  attempt  to  liberate  Bob.  This  was  attempted 
the  next  day,  the  little  party  passing  out  of  Joel's  sally-port 
and  advancing  unmolested  until  they  were  in  plain  sight  of  the 
bivouac  of  the  invaders.  Wliile  Captain  Willoughby  and 
Joyce  were  observing  them,  Nick  suddenly  stood  beside 
them. 

"Why  come  here?  Like  to  see  enemy  between  you  and 
wigwam?" 

"Am  I  to  trust  in  you  as  a  friend?"  asked  the  Captain,  look- 
ing the  Indian  steadily  in  the  eye. 

"Why  won't  trust?  Nick  gone  away.  Why  no  trust 
Wyandotte?     Yengeese  always  trust  him." 

"I  will  take  you  at  your  word,  Wyandotte." 

He  then  explained  to  the  Tuscarora  his  intention  to  liberate 
the  Major, if  possible.  "I  will  lead,"  he  said,  "and  Wyandotte 
will  march  by  my  side.     Now  follow,  and  be  silent." 

When  they  came  near  the  miller's  house,  Captain  Willoughby 
went  down  the  path,  accompanied  only  by  Nick,  expecting  to 
creep  up  in  the  bushes  and  to  open  communication  with  the 
Major.     Sergeant  Joyce  waited  a  half-hour,  expecting  every 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  331 

moment  to  be  called.  After  another  half-hour  he  became 
uneasy,  and  was  about  to  go  forward  when  Nick  reappeared. 

"Where  Cap'n?     Where  Major?"  he  asked. 

"We  have  not  seen  the  Captain  since  he  left  with  you," 
replied  Joyce. 

This  seemed  to  surprise  the  Indian,  and  he  pondered  a 
moment  in  obvious  uneasiness. 

"Best  go  see.     By 'm-by  trouble  come;  then  too  late." 

Joyce  and  Nick  crept  forward  through  the  bushes  until  they 
came  to  the  rocks  near  the  lean-to  back  of  the  house.  There 
they  found  the  body  of  the  Captain  leaning  against  the  rocks 
within  six  feet  of  his  son's  prison.  Joyce  at  first  thought  he 
might  have  fallen  in  a  fit,  but  on  examination  he  found  a  deep 
and  fatal  wound  through  the  heart  evidently  inflicted  with  a  knife. 

Joyce,  a  man  of  powerful  frame,  raised  the  body  on  his  back 
by  means  of  the  arms  over  his  shoulders,  and  started  up  the 
path,  Nick  aiding  as  soon  as  there  was  room.  On  reaching 
the  party,  the  body  was  placed  on  rifles  and  the  melancholy 
procession  started  back  for  the  Knoll,  Nick  leading  the  way  and 
manifesting  the  utmost  solicitude.  On  approaching  the  stock- 
ade the  question  arose  as  to  who  should  go  forward  and  break 
the  sad  news  to  the  women.     All  demurred  but  Nick,  who  said : 

"Nick  go;  carry  message  for  Cap'n  once  more." 

"Well,  Nick,  you  may  go  if  so  disposed,"  replied  Joyce. 
"Remember  and  speak  gently,  and  do  not  break  the  news  too 
suddenly." 

"  Squaw  soft  heart — Nick  know — had  moder — wife,  once — 
darter." 

As  soon  as  the  Tuscarora  was  out  of  sight  of  the  party  he 
sat  down  on  a  stone  beside  the  stream,  apparently  to  reflect 
on  the  course  he  ought  to  pursue.  He  drew  his  knife  from  its 
sheath  and  washed  off  a  clot  of  blood  near  the  handle,  and  then 
carefully  examined  his  whole  person. 

"Wyandotte's  back  don't  ache  now,"  he  growled.  "Ole 
sore  heal  up — nebber  smart  any  more." 

He  then  arose  and  prepared  to  present  himself  before  the 
wife  and  daughters  of  the  man  he  had  ruthlessly  murdered. 

As  if  in  expiation  of  his  act  of  revenge,  a  few  hours  later 
Nick   aided  Maud  in  rescuing  Major  Willoughby  from  the 


332  WYANDOTTE 

hands  of  his  captors,  and  succeeded  in  reaching  the  shelter  of 
the  stockade  unharmed.  But  the  enemy  followed  them  closely 
and  soon  made  so  fierce  an  attack  on  the  palisades  that  some 
of  the  assailants  succeeded  in  entering.  A  wild  hand-to-hand 
light  took  place,  in  which  INI  ike  did  good  service,  aided  by  the 
IMajor  and  Nick.  The  darkness,  which  had  now  set  in,  was 
illuminated  by  the  flashes  of  guns,  and  made  horrible  by 
shrieks,  curses,  groans,  and  whoops.  In  the  midst  of  it  all  the 
roll  of  a  drum  was  heard  without  and  Colonel  Beekman,  at 
the  head  of  a  force  of  regulars,  put  an  end  to  the  fight.  But 
sad  news  awaited  him:  the  body  of  Mrs.  Willoughby  was 
found  seated  near  her  husband's  corpse  and  that  of  Beulah, 
his  wife,  hard  by  with  her  child,  little  Evert,  lying  pressed  to  her 
heart.  No  marks  of  violence  were  found  on  the  former,  but 
Beulah  had  been  shot  through  the  heart.  On  the  floor  lay 
the  dead  bodies  of  tw^o  Mohawks,  while  Nick,  badly  wounded  in 
his  effort  to  protect  the  women,  was  standing  over  one  of  his 
adversaries  with  glaring  eyes.  "Maud!  Tuscarora,"  groaned  the 
jNlajor  as  he  noted  her  absence.  "  Know  you  anything  of  Maud  ?  " 

Nick,  motioning  him  to  follow,  led  the  way  to  the  store- 
room, and  unlocked  the  door,  and  the  next  instant  Maud  was 
weeping  on  Robert's  breast. 

"Oh!  Maud — beloved  one — we  must  now  be  all  in  all  to  each 
other.     Death  has  stricken  the  others." 

Twelve  years  after  the  close  of  the  war.  General  Sir  Robert 
Willoughby  and  Lady  Willoughby  visited  the  Hutted  Knoll  and 
the  graves  near  it,  in  company  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Woods,  Mike 
and  Nick,  The  clergyman  confided  to  Sir  Robert  the  Indian's 
terrible  secret,  and  told  him  he  believed  that  he  had  truly 
repented  of  the  deed  and  that  he  had  secured  his  conversion. 
When  Nick  was  told  that  the  General  knew  of  his  act,  he  was  at 
first  terribly  agitated.  Then  he  put  his  tomahawk  into  Sir 
Robert's  hand,  folded  his  arms  on  his  bosom  and  said: 

"Strike!    Nick  kill  Cap'n— Major  kill  Nick." 

"  No,  Tuscarora,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  may  God  in  heaven 
forgive  the  deed  as  I  now  forgive  you." 

A  wild  smile  gleamed  on  the  face  of  the  Indian  as  he 
grasped  both  hands  of  the  General.  "  God  forgive,"  he  muttered, 
and  fell  dead  on  the  grave  of  his  victim. 


SATANSTOE:   OR,   THE  LITTLEPAGE 
MANUSCRIPTS   (1844) 

This  story,  the  first  of  three  entitled  The  Littlepage  Manuscripts,  is  a  tale 
of  the  Colony  of  New  York,  dealing  especially  with  the  settlement  of  the 
country  northeast  of  Albany,  now  included  in  Washington  County.  The  time 
is  1758,  and  the  incidents  include  the  unsuccessful  attack  on  Ticonderoga,  in 
the  Old  French  War,  in  which  General  Howe  lost  his  Ufe.  Satanstoe,  the  name 
of  the  estate  of  the  Littlepage  family,  on  a  neck  or  peninsula  of  Westchester 
County,  near  Hell  Gate,  was  so  called  because  the  devil  was  reputed  to  have 
left  the  print  of  his  toe  on  it  when  on  a  roistering  expedition  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. The  account  is  supposed  to  be  told  by  CorneUus  Littlepage,  an  eye- 
witness of  the  events. 


WAS  born  at  Satanstoe  on  May  3,  1737.  My 
father,  Major  Evans  Littlepage,  inherited  this 
estate  from  his  father.  Captain  Hugh  Littlepage, 
an  Englishman,  who  acquired  it,  through  his 
wife,  about  thirty  years  after  the  cession  of  the 
colony  to  the  English  by  its  Dutch  owners.  My 
mother  was  of  Dutch  extraction  on  both  sides, 
her  father  having  been  a  Blauvelt,  and  her  mother 
a  Van  Busser.  My  Christian  name  of  Cornelius, 
familiarly  Corny,  was  derived  from  my  Dutch  grandfather. 

My  early  schooling  was  under  the  charge  of  the  Rev. 
Thomas  Worden,  rector  of  St.  Jude's,  to  which  parish  we  be- 
longed. He  was  a  good  scholar  and  popular  among  the  gentry, 
because  he  attended  all  the  dinners,  clubs,  races,  and  other 
diversions  for  ten  miles  round,  and  never  preached  more  than 
twenty  minutes.  He  taught  me  Latin  and  Greek  enough  to 
enter  Nassau  Hall,  the  college  of  New  Jersey,  then  established 
at  Newark. 

I  had  an  intimate  friend,  Dirck  Van  Valkenburgh,  son  of 
Colonel  Abraham  Van  Valkenburgh,  who  lived  at  Rockland, 
across  the  Hudson.  The  Colonel,  a  brother  soldier  of  my 
father's,  was  familiarly  called  by  his  friends,  'Brom  Follock,  or 
Colonel  Pollock  or  Vollock.     Dirck  and  I  were  no  more  alike 


334 


SATANSTOE 


than  a  horse  and  a  mule,  but  we  had  been  schoolmates  under 
INIr.  Worden,  and  I  hoped  we  were  to  be  college-mates.  But 
Ills  father  decided  that,  as  none  of  the  family  had  been  to  college 
and  all  had  got  on  very  well,  Dirck  should  be  no  exception  to 
the  rule.  So  I  went  to  college  while  Dirck  kept  up  his  studies 
under  Mr.  Worden  two  years  longer,  when  the  rector,  having 
fallen  heir  to  some  money,  gave  up  his  school.  Jason  New- 
come,  a  Yankee  graduate  of  Yale,  was  called  to  fill  his  place. 
Colonel  FoUock  and  other  Dutch  neighbors,  who  had  decided 
notions  about  Yankees,  at  once  withdrew  their  sons,  and  from 
that  hour  Dirck  never  went  to  school  again. 

I  spent  four  happy  years  in  college,  being  graduated  in  1755, 
when  I  was  nineteen  years  old.  I  kept  up  my  intimacy  with 
Dirck  during  all  this  time.  He  was  a  sterling  fellow,  as  true  as 
steel,  as  brave  as  a  game-cock,  and  as  honest  as  noonday  light. 
Jason  Newcome,  whom  I  found  established  in  the  school  on 
my  return,  was  a  very  different  sort  of  person.  He  was  tall, 
angular,  and  loose-jointed,  but  as  active  as  a  cat.  He  would 
think  two  feet  to  Dirck's  one;  but  while  the  Dutchman  was  apt 
to  come  out  right,  give  him  time,  Jason  was  quite  liable  to  jump 
to  wrong  conclusions. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year  when  I  was  twenty,  Dirck  and  I 
paid  our  first  visit  to  town  in  the  character  of  young  men.  We 
baited  at  Kingsbridge;  and  while  dinner  was  cooking,  walked 
out  on  the  heights  overlooking  the  Hudson,  and  Dirck  pointed 
out  a  house  below,  with  a  lawn  extending  to  the  water  and  an 
orchard  behind. 

"That  is  Lilacsbush,"  he  said.  "It  belongs  to  my  mother's 
cousin,  Herman  Mordaunt." 

I  had  heard  of  him,  a  man  of  considerable  note  in  the  col- 
ony, son  of  a  Major  Mordaunt  of  the  British  army,  who  had 
married  the  heiress  of  a  wealthy  Dutch  merchant. 

"If  he  is  your  mother's  cousin,"  I  asked,  "why  did  you  not 
ride  on  to  Lilacsbush  and  levy  a  dinner  on  your  relative?" 

"Because  Herman  Mordaunt  and  his  daughter  Anneke — 
her  mother  is  dead — live  in  town  in  winter  and  never  come  out 
here  until  after  the  Pinkster  holidays." 

"Oh,  ho!  there  is  an  Anneke!  Pray,  how  old  may  Miss 
Anneke  be,  Master  Dirck?" 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  335 

Dirck  blushed  as  I  looked  at  him,  but  he  answered  stoutly: 

"My  cousin,  Anneke  Mordaunt,  is  just  turned  of  seventeen; 
and  I  can  tell  you  what,  Corny,  Anneke  is  one  of  the  very  pret- 
tiest girls  in  the  colony,  and  just  as  sweet  and  good  as  she  is 
pretty." 

'I  shall  hope  to  have  the  honor  of  being  introduced  one  of 
these  days  to  Miss  Anneke  Mordaunt." 

"I  wish  you  to  see  her,  Corny,  and  that  before  we  go  home." 

The  next  day  Dirck  and  I  went  up  to  the  town  common, 
and  there  we  met  his  cousin  Anneke,  who,  with  other  girls,  was 
witnessing  the  Pinkster  frolics.  When  I  was  introduced,  she 
colored,  and  looking  me  steadily  in  the  face,  said: 

"Mr.  Littlepage,  I  believe,  is  not  a  total  stranger,  Cousin 
Dirck.     He  once  did  me  an  important  service." 

Then  I  recognized  her  as  a  beautiful  girl  for  whom,  several 
years  before,  on  the  Bowery  Road,  I  had  fought  a  pitched  battle 
with  a  butcher-boy  who  had  insulted  her.  This  at  once  put 
me  on  a  familiar  footing,  and  we  soon  became  friends. 

Now  it  happened  that  a  showman  had  brought  a  lion  to  Pink- 
ster, and  was  exhibiting  it  in  a  booth  hard  by.  As  there  were 
many  visitors,  we  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  places.  An- 
neke, who  was  in  front  of  the  circle  around  the  cage,  was  grad- 
ually pressed  so  close  that  the  lion,  perhaps  attracted  by  a  gay 
shawl  she  wore,  thrust  a  paw  through  and  caught  her,  drawing 
her  quite  up  to  the  bars.  I  was  at  her  side,  and  with  a  presence 
of  mind  that  now  surprises  me,  I  threw  the  shawl  from  her 
shoulders,  and  lifting  her  from  the  ground,  bore  her  to  a  safe 
distance  from  the  beast.  Anneke  was  rescued  before  she  had 
time  to  comprehend  her  danger,  but  as  soon  as  she  became 
conscious  of  it  she  changed  color  and  shed  tears.  We  had  all 
gone  to  the  verge  of  the  common  before  the  sweet  girl,  looking 
at  me  earnestly,  said: 

"Mr.  Littlepage,  I  am  just  getting  to  be  fully  conscious  of 
what  I  owe  to  you.  The  thing  passed  so  suddenly  and  I  was 
so  much  alarmed,  that  I  did  not  know  how  to  express  myself. 
But  believe  me  that  I  never  can  forget  this  morning." 

Herman  Mordaunt,  Annekc's  father,  called  on  me  at  once 
to  express  his  gratitude  and  invited  me  to  dine  with  him  on  the 
following  Friday.    When  Dirck  and  I  arrived  at  his  house  we 


336  SATANSTOE 

found,  besides  Anneke  and  her  most  intimate  friend,  Mary 
Wallace,  several  other  young  ladies,  and  three  scarlet  coats: 
Harris,  an  ensign,  younger  son  of  a  member  of  Parliament; 
Billings,  a  captain,  said  to  be  a  natural  son  of  a  nobleman;  and 
Bulstrode,  a  major,  eldest  son  of  a  baronet.  The  last,  who  was 
distantly  related  to  the  Mordaunts,  was  a  handsome  fellow, 
and,  I  soon  discovered,  an  ardent  admirer  of  Anneke.  To  my 
surprise,  the  privileges  of  rank  were  waived  in  my  favor,  and  I 
had  the  honor  of  handing  Anneke  downstairs  to  dinner.  That 
night  we  all  attended  the  theater,  where  Addison's  Cato  was 
performed  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  army,  the  principal  character 
by  Major  Bulstrode. 

V>"b.en  Dirck  and  I  returned  home  the  Mordaunts  were  at 
Lilacsbush,  and  it  was  arranged  that  we  should  stop  and  break- 
fast with  them.  At  table  Mr.  Mordaunt  spoke  of  some  lands 
which  my  father,  in  connection  with  Colonel  Follock,  had 
bought  in  the  neighborhood  of  Albany. 

"It  is  not  very  extensive,  sir,"  I  replied,  "there  being  only 
about  forty  thousand  acres.  It  is  not  near  Albany,  but  forty 
miles  or  more  above  that  town.  Dirck  and  I  are  to  go  in  search 
of  it  next  winter." 

"  Then  we  may  meet  in  that  quarter.  I  have  affairs  of  im- 
portance at  Albany,  and  shall  pass  some  months  at  the  north 
next  season.  Bulstrode's  regiment  expects  to  be  ordered  up  as 
high  as  Albany,  and  we  may  all  renew  our  songs  and  jests  among 
the  Dutchmen." 

Anneke  had  made  a  lively  impression  on  me  from  the  first, 
but  that  impression  had  now  very  sensibly  touched  the  heart. 
As  proof  that  passion  was  getting  the  mastery  over  me,  I  now 
forgot  Dirck,  his  obvious  attachment  and  older  claims.  But 
of  Dirck  I  had  no  fears,  while  Bulstrode  gave  me  great  uneasi- 
ness. I  saw  all  his  advantages  from  the  first,  and  may  even 
have  magnified  them,  while  those  of  my  near  and  immediate 
friend  gave  me  no  trouble. 

My  feelings  were  intensified  toward  spring  when  my  mother 
received  a  letter  saying  that  Herman  Mordaunt  had  left  town 
for  Albany  two  months  before,  intending  to  pass  the  summer 
north;  that  Anneke  and  Mary  Wallace  were  with  him,  and  that 
it  was  whispered  around  town  that  he  had  obtained  some  pub- 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  337 

lie  office  there  so  as  to  be  near  the th  regiment,  in  which 

was  a  certain  baronet's  son,  a  relative  of  his,  whom  he  wished 
Anneke  to  marry. 

We  set  out  for  Albany  in  sleighs  on  the  first  of  March,  1758, 
our  party  consisting  of,  besides  Dirck  and  myself,  the  Rev,  Mr. 
Worden  and  Jason  Newcome.  Our  luggage  and  necessary 
stores  had  been  sent  ahead  in  charge  of  Jaap,  a  faithful  negro 
servant.  We  reached  Albany,  or  rather  the  point  opposite  the 
town,  m  four  days,  and  crossed  the  river  there  on  the  ice.  WTien 
we  were  nearly  across,  a  very  handsome  sleigh,  full  of  ladies, 
came  down  the  bank  and  went  by  us  like  a  comet.  But  in  that 
instant  I  recognized  Bulstrode  as  the  driver  and  saw  among  the 
ladies  the  face  of  Anneke  Mordaunt. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Worden,  afraid  to  trust  himself  on  the  ice  in 
the  sleigh,  had  insisted  on  walking  across.  A  man  behind  us, 
seeing  a  man  in  clerical  costume  walking,  drove  after  him  to 
offer  him  a  seat.  But  the  divine,  hearing  the  bells  and  fearful 
of  having  a  sleigh  so  near  him,  took  to  his  heels,  pursued  by 
the  people  in  the  sleigh  as  fast  as  their  horses  could  follow. 
Everybody  stopped  to  gaze  at  the  strange  spectacle  until  Mr. 
Worden  reached  the  shore,  which  he  did  at  the  same  time  with 
his  pursuers.  The  driver  of  the  sleigh  stopped  to  inquire  what 
had  caused  the  reverend  gentleman  to  run  so  fast  when  he  was 
anxious  to  offer  him  the  courtesy  of  a  seat.  The  matter  was 
soon  explained,  and  the  gentleman,  finding  that  we  were  strang- 
ers in  Albany,  greeted  us  cordially,  asked  at  what  tavern  we  in- 
tended to  stop,  and  promised  to  call  on  us.  We  thus  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Guert  Ten  Eyck,  afterward  our  companion  in 
many  perils. 

I  found  Guert  a  very  companionable  fellow  and  we  soon  be- 
came firm  friends.  He  was  a  young  man  of  a  very  handsome 
property,  without  father  or  mother,  and  lived  in  good  style,  his 
bachelor  residence  being  as  well  kept  as  if  it  had  a  mistress 
at  its  head.  Guert  had  become  acquainted  with  the  Mor- 
daunts,  and  had  fallen  in  love  with  Mary  Wallace. 

"How  I  wish  I  were  as  much  a  favorite  with  Herman  Mor- 
daunt as  you  appear  to  be,"  he  said. 

"I  have  some  reason  to  think  he  does  not  dislike  me,"  I 
replied.  "I  had  it  in  my  power  to  be  of  some  trifling  service  to 
A.D.,  VOL.  V. — 22 


338  SATANSTOE 

Miss  Anneke  last  spring,  and  the  whole  family  seem  disposed 
to  remember  it." 

"I  have  heard  the  whole  story  from  Mary  Wallace;  it  was 
about  a  lion.  I  would  give  half  I  am  worth  to  see  Mary  Wallace 
in  the  paws  of  a  lion,  or  any  other  wild  beast,  just  to  let  her  see 
that  Guert  Ten  Eyck  has  a  heart.  Now,  Corny,  my  boy,  I 
want  you  to  do  me  a  favor.  I  should  like  to  give  Mary  and 
Anneke  a  drive  with  my  team  and  in  my  own  sleigh.  No  man 
within  twenty  miles  of  Albany  drives  such  a  pair  of  beasts  as 
I.  You  are  in  such  favor,  it  will  be  easy  for  you  to  effect  it.  I 
might  try  in  vain  forever." 

This  led  to  a  drive  to  Kinderhook  the  following  week  on  the 
river,  a  rain  having  nearly  cleared  the  roads  of  snow.  There 
were  two  sleigh-loads  in  the  party,  the  two  young  ladies,  Guert, 
and  I  in  Guert's  sleigh,  and  Herman  Mordaunt,  Dirck,  and  a 
Mrs.  Bogert  in  the  other.  The  drive  down  was  exhilarating, 
the  smooth  icy  surface  of  the  river  furnishing  an  excellent  road 
for  trotting.  We  dined  at  Mrs.  Van  Heyden's,  a  connection  of 
the  Mordaunts,  at  Kinderhook,  and  passed  so  pleasant  an 
evening  that  we  did  not  leave  until  eight  o'clock. 

Of  the  events  of  that  fearful  night  I  can  only  record  that  the 
river  ice  broke  up  when  we  were  about  half  way  to  Albany, 
that  the  two  sleighs  became  separated  by  a  wall  of  ice,  and  that 
Guert  and  I,  with  Mary  Wallace  and  Anneke  in  charge,  succeed- 
ed in  reaching  one  of  the  islands,  after  cutting  loose  the  horses. 

"Corny,"  said  Guert  in  a  low  tone,  "Providence  has  pun- 
ished me  for  my  wicked  wish  of  seeing  Mary  Wallace  in  the 
claws  of  lions:  all  the  savage  beasts  in  the  world  could  hardly 
make  our  case  more  desperate  than  it  is.  The  ice  is  in  motion 
all  around  us.  I  fear  me,  Corny,  Herman  Mordaunt  and  his 
party  are  lost." 

Guert  and  his  charge  and  I  and  Anneke  finally  became 
separated,  but  each  couple  succeeded  in  gaining  the  mainland, 
where  we  found  the  rest  of  our  party  safe;  but  Herman  Mor- 
daunt's  horses  were  lost,  and  both  sleighs  were  carried  down 
past  New  York. 

Herman  Mordaunt' s  delight  and  gratitude  when  he  Solded 
Anneke  to  his  heart  may  be  imagined. 

"I  want  no  details,  noble  young  man,"  he  said,  "to  feel 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  339 

certain  that,  under  God,  I  owe  my  child's  Ufe,  for  the  second 
time,  to  you.  I  wish  to  heaven! — but,  no  matter — it  is  now 
too  late — I  hardly  know  what  I  say,  Littlepage." 

Major  Bulstrode  called  on  me  the  very  day  of  our  return. 

"You  seem  fated,  my  dear  Corny,"  he  observed,  "to  be  al- 
ways serving  me  in  the  most  material  way,  and  I  hardly  know 
how  to  express  all  I  feel.  First  the  lion,  and  now  this  affair 
of  the  river.  I  wish  to  heaven,  Littlepage,  you  would  come 
into  the  army.  I  will  write  to  Sir  Harry  to  obtain  a  pair  of 
colors  for  you.  As  soon  as  he  hears  that  we  are  indebted  to 
you  for  the  life  of  Miss  Mordaunt,  whom  he  has  made  up  his 
mind  to  accept  as  a  child  of  his  own,  he  will  move  heaven  and 
earth  to  manifest  his  gratitude." 

"Mr.  Bulstrode,"  I  said,  "I  conceive  it  no  more  than  fair 
to  be  as  honest  as  yourself  in  this  matter.  You  have  told  me 
that  you  are  a  suitor  for  Miss  Mordaunt's  hand;  I  will  now 
own  to  you  that  I  am  your  rival." 

He  heard  this  with  a  quiet  smile  and  the  most  perfect  good- 
nature, 

"  So  you  actually  wish  to  become  the  husband  of  Anneke 
Mordaunt,  my  dear  Corny,  do  you?"  he  said  coolly. 

"I  do,  Major  Bulstrode — it  is  the  first  and  last  wish  of  my 
heart." 

"Well,  Corny,  though  we  are  rivals,  there  is  no  reason  we 
should  not  remain  friends.  But  I  deem  it  no  more  than  fair 
to  tell  you  that  Herman  Mordaunt  is  on  my  side,  heart  and 
hand.  He  likes  my  offers  of  settlement;  he  likes  my  family;  he 
likes  my  rank,  civil  and  military ;  and  I  am  not  altogether  with- 
out the  hope  that  he  likes  me." 

I  made  no  direct  answer,  but  this  declaration  gave  me  the 
clue  to  Herman  Mordaunt's  words  when  he  thanked  me  for 
the  life  of  his  daughter. 

Though  Guert  had  saved  Mary  Wallace's  life,  for  which  she 
was  more  than  grateful,  it  did  not  seem  to  aid  him  in  his  woo- 
ing. He  came  to  me  a  few  days  later  and,  throwing  his  hat 
down  with  a  most  rueful  aspect,  said: 

"Corny,  I  have  been  refused  again!  That  word  'no'  has 
got  to  be  so  common  with  Mary  Wallace,  that  I  am  afraid  her 
tongue  will  never  know  how  to  utter  a  'yes'!" 


340  SATANSTOE 

Early  in  the  spring  Lord  Howe  arrived  and  the  troops  be- 
gan their  march  northward,  accompanied  by  a  long  train  of 
ba^'M^e-wagons.  Ten  days  later,  Herman  Mordaunt  and 
party,  consisting  of,  besides  the  ladies,  several  black  servants 
and  three  white  axmen,  followed,  accompanied  by  my  own 
party.  The  latter  consisted  of  Dirck,  Guert  Ten  Eyck,  and 
me,  Mr.  Traverse,  the  surveyor,  two  chain-bearers,  two  ax- 
men, and  two  negroes,  Jaap,  my  faithful  man,  and  Petrus  or 
Pete,  belonging  to  Guert.  Mr.  Worden  and  Jason  Newcome 
went  twenty-four  hours  in  advance,  agreeing  to  meet  us  at  a 
certain  point  in  the  woods. 

We  stopped  at  Ravensncst,  Herman  Mordaunt's  place, 
several  days,  in  order  to  see  him  safely  established  before  mov- 
ing on  to  Mooseridge,  our  own  property,  about  fourteen  miles 
distant.  The  house  at  Ravensnest,  a  log  structure,  formed  three 
sides  of  a  parallelogram,  the  open  part  of  the  court  in  the  center 
facing  the  cliff,  where  a  strong  palisade  made  a  defense  against 
bullets.  All  the  windows  of  the  building,  which  was  a  hundred 
feet  long  by  fifty  broad,  opened  on  the  court,  and  the  single 
outer  door  was  picketed.  Four  or  five  apartments  within  were 
prepared  for  the  family,  making  them  as  comfortable  as  could 
be  expected.  Everything  was  plain,  and  many  things  rude; 
but  shelter,  warmth,  and  security  had  not  been  neglected. 

Mr.  Worden  and  Jason  declined  to  go  any  farther,  so  we 
thought  it  best  to  add  two  Indians  to  our  number,  in  the  double 
character  of  hunters  and  runners,  or  messengers.  One  of  these 
was  called  Jumper,  and  the  other,  from  his  faculty  of  leaving 
no  trail.  Trackless.  The  latter,  about  twenty-six  years  old, 
was  an  Onondaga,  though  living  with  the  Mohawks,  and  his 
Indian  name  was  Susquesus,  or  Crooked  Turns.  Through  his 
aid  we  soon  found  a  tree  marking  the  corner  of  our  possessions, 
and  immediately  set  about  our  work.  It  took  a  week  to  build 
a  comfortable  log  cabin,  after  which  we  began  surveying  in 
earnest.  The  surveying  party  usually  returned  to  the  cabin  at 
night,  but  when  the  work  led  them  to  the  other  side  of  the 
tract  they  sometimes  "camped  out." 

Meanwhile  we  kept  constant  communication  with  Ravens- 
nest by  means  of  our  runners,  and  sometimes  made  the  party 
there  a  visit  of  a  day  or  two.     Once  when  Susquesus  was  sent 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  341 

there  he  was  gone  two  weeks,  and  we  had  nearly  given  up 
hopes  of  seeing  him  again  when  he  returned  with  news  that 
Abercrombie  was  about  to  embark  with  his  army  on  Lake 
George,  and  that  we  must  be  active  if  we  hoped  to  be  pres- 
ent at  the  operations  against  Ticonderoga.  Traverse  and  the 
chain-bearers  were  in  the  woods,  but  we  left  a  letter  for  them 
explaining  our  absence  and  promising  to  return  as  soon  as  the 
expedition  was  ended.  Guert,  Dirck,  Jaap,  and  I  then  shoul- 
dered our  knapsacks  and  guns,  and  set  out,  guided  by  Sus- 
quesus,  for  the  seat  of  war. 

The  failure  of  the  expedition,  defeated  by  a  much  smaller 
force  of  French  and  Indians,  and  attended  by  the  death  of  Lord 
Howe,  is  matter  of  history.  We  took  a  prominent  part  in  the 
fray  as  volunteers,  under  the  leadership  of  Guert,  who  seemed 
to  be  in  his  element.  When  a  retreat  was  ordered  we  fell  back 
with  the  rest,  Jaap  guarding  a  prisoner  he  had  taken,  a  stout 
Canadian  Indian.  Of  our  military  friends,  Billings  was  left 
dead  on  the  field,  and  Bulstrode  and  Harris  were  seriously 
wounded.  As  everything  was  in  confusion,  we  had  to  look  out 
for  ourselves,  but  fortunately  we  fell  in  with  Susquesus,  who  led 
us  to  a  place  where  he  had  concealed  a  canoe.  But  the  Indian 
would  not  permit  Jaap  to  bring  his  prisoner:  "No  room,"  said 
he,  "for  red  man.     Five  good — six  bad.    Take  scalp." 

But  we  decided  against  any  more  killing,  and  I  ordered  Jaap 
to  cut  the  prisoner's  fastenings  and  let  him  go.  As  I  was  about 
getting  into  the  canoe  I  heard  the  sound  of  heavy  blows,  and 
running  back  I  found  Jaap  thrashing  the  naked  back  of  his 
prisoner  with  a  rope.  Indignantly  I  ordered  the  negro  to  the 
canoe,  and  with  my  own  hands  cut  the  savage's  bonds.  "Black 
man  do  foolish  t'ing,"  remarked  Susquesus,  "beat  warrior  like 
dog.  Warrior  back  like  squaw's.  Musquerusque  Huron  chief. 
He  never  forget." 

We  soon  had  cause  to  remember  his  words.  When,  a  few 
days  later,  we  returned  to  Mooseridge,  we  found  the  cabin 
empty,  but  with  every  evidence  that  the  tenants  had  left  it  but 
a  short  time  before.  That  night  I  was  wakened  out  of  a  deep 
sleep  by  the  Onondaga,  who  unbarred  the  door  and  beckoned 
me  to  follow  him.  He  stop])ed  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  from  the 
cabin,  and  said  in  a  suppressed  voice:  "Now,  open  ear." 


342  SATANSTOE 

I  listened  and  soon  caught  the  sound  of  a  human  cry,  as 
from  human  Hps  in  agony.  It  was  loud,  long,  piercing — the 
word  "Help"  as  distinct  as  tongue  could  make  it. 

"Great  God!"  I  exclaimed.  "Let's  arouse  the  rest  and 
go  to  his  assistance." 

"No  need  call.     Two  better  than  four.     Stop  minute." 

He  returned  to  the  cabin,  brought  out  our  rifles,  and  closed 
the  door,  and  we  then  set  out.  We  went  on  about  a  half  mile 
when  Susquesus  stopped.  We  could  hear  an  occasional  stifled 
groan,  and  an  impulse  of  humanity  tempted  me  to  go  to  the 
person's  assistance,  but  Susquesus  checked  me.  "No  good," 
he  said  sternly.     "  Sit  still." 

When  morning  came,  Susquesus  used  the  utmost  caution 
in  advancing.  Presently  I  heard  the  familiar  Indian  interjec- 
tion "Hugh!"  and  saw,  suspended  by  the  arms,  ten  or  fifteen 
feet  abov?  the  ground,  the  body  of  a  man.  He  had  been  scalped 
and  the  blood  had  flowed  freely  from  the  head.  Moving  around 
to  get  a  view  of  the  face,  I  recognized  the  distorted  features  of 
Pete,  Guert  Ten  Eyck's  negro. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  we  returned  to  the  cabin.  After 
breakfast  we  set  out  with  our  rifles  in  Indian  file,  the  Onondaga 
leading.  Under  a  great  chestnut-tree  we  found  the  body  of 
Sam,  one  of  our  hunters,  whom  we  supposed  to  be  with  Trav- 
erse, and  a  little  farther  on,  Traverse  himself  and  his  two  chain- 
bearers  and  Tom,  the  second  axman,  sitting  in  a  circle  as  if 
dining,  but  all  dead  and  scalped. 

"Huron  do  that,"  said  Susquesus.  "Injin  back  sore;  no 
love  flog." 

When  we  returned  to  the  cabin,  we  found  Jumper,  our  other 
Indian  scout,  who  brought  letters  from  Ravensnest.  Major 
Bulstrode  was  expected  that  night  in  a  horse-litter;  and  we  were 
all  asked  to  hasten  thither  without  delay,  as  reports  were  rife 
that  savages  had  been  seen  in  the  woods.  We  at  once  aban- 
doned the  cabin  and,  taking  only  our  arms,  ammunition,  and 
food  enough  for  the  day,  set  out  for  Ravensnest.  When  near 
our  destination,  after  nightfall,  we  came  upon  a  band  of  forty 
savages,  all  in  war-paint,  gathered  around  a  fire  under  a  shelv- 
ing rock  for  supper.  We  took  them  by  surprise,  fired  on  them, 
and  then  charged  with  knife  and  tomahawk,  shouting.     The 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  343 

savages  yelled  and  scattered,  and  we  passed  through  the  slain 
and  wounded,  and  reached  the  abatis  covering  the  gate  of 
Ravensnest,  where  Herman  Mordaunt  and  a  dozen  armed  men 
were  ready  to  receive  us. 

Soon  after  our  arrival  I  went  to  Bulstrode's  room,  he  having 
asked  to  see  me.  His  wound  was  by  no  means  bad,  and  there 
was  no  danger  of  his  losing  his  leg.  He  spoke  freely  of  Anneke 
and  begged  me  to  pardon  what  he  called  his  master-stroke — in 
having  himself  thus  brought  fresh  from  the  field  to  the  presence 
of  his  mistress. 

"Make  a  nurse  out  of  a  woman  and  she  is  yours,  nine  times 
out  of  ten.  I  do  not  deny  that  you,  as  a  defender,  have  at  pres- 
ent some  advantages.  God  bless  you,  Corny,"  he  said  as  I  left 
him;  "improve  the  opportunity  in  your  own  way,  for  I  assure 
you  I  shall  do  it  in  mine." 

I  took  him  at  his  word.  That  very  night  I  found  an  occa- 
sion to  press  my  suit  with  Anneke,  and  with  success.  She  owned 
that  she  had  long  loved  me,  and  that  Bulstrode,  though  encour- 
aged by  her  father,  never  had  interested  her  in  the  least. 

Poor  Guert  Ten  Eyck,  who  had  again  tried  his  fortune  with 
Mary  Wallace,  rejoined  me,  sadder  and  more  despairing  than 
ever.  If  she  had  been  less  obdurate  he  might  have  been  saved ; 
but  that  night,  when  the  Hurons  made  a  concerted  attack  on 
the  house,  he  exposed  himself  recklessly  and  received  his  death- 
wound.  Mary  Wallace  discovered  when  too  late  that  she  loved 
him,  and  he  died  in  her  arms.     Mary  Wallace  never  married. 

In  the  following  September  I  saw  Bulstrode  at  Lilacsbush. 

"I  told  you  once,  Corny,"  he  said,  offering  his  hand,  "that 
we  must  remain  friends,  coMe  qui  coule — you  have  been  success- 
ful, and  I  have  failed.  It  was  the  river  that  made  your  fortune, 
Corny,  and  undid  me." 

I  smiled,  but  said  nothing;  though  I  knew  better. 


AFLOAT  AND   ASHORE   (1844) 

This  story  is  one  of  the  author's  favorite  sea -tales,  and  is  believed  to  be 
partly  autobiographical. 

WAS  bom  in  a  valley  not  very  remote  from 
the  sea,  by  the  shore  of  a  small  creek  that  ran 
into  the  Hudson.  My  father,  Miles  Walling- 
ford,  whose  name  I  bear,  was  descended  from 
an  English  family  that  had  settled  on  the  spot 
three  generations  ago.  He  had  followed  the  sea 
during  his  youth  and  engaged  in  several  of  the 
hardest  sea-fights  of  the  Revolution.  Then  he 
settled  down  on  the  farm,  which  was  called  Claw- 
bonny,  and  by  his  thrift  added  to  the  value  of  the  property. 
As  there  were  no  steamers  plying  on  the  Hudson  (nor  anywhere 
else)  at  that  time,  the  produce  of  Clawbonny,  raised  chiefly  by 
the  family  slaves  bom  and  brought  up  on  the  place,  was  shipped 
to  New  York  in  a  sloop  attached  to  the  estate.  By  this  means 
and  by  the  full-rigged  model  of  a  ship  preserved  in  the  house, 
together  with  the  instructions  of  my  father  as  to  matters  concern- 
ing ships  and  the  sea,  I  not  only  gained  much  knowledge  of  the 
subject  but,  what  was  more  important,  imbibed  an  intense 
longing  to  follow  the  sea  for  a  profession. 

My  father  was  killed  while  experimenting  with  a  nev/ 
water-wheel  which  he  was  adding  to  his  mill,  and  my  mother's 
death  soon  followed,  overcome  as  she  was  by  this  dreadful 
event.  I  was  sixteen  years  old  when  the  loss  of  our  last  parent 
left  me  alone  with  my  sister  Grace.  The  estate,  which  was 
very  comfortable  for  those  days,  brought  up  simply  as  we  had 
been,  was  left  in  charge  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hardinge,  our  ex- 
cellent rector,  until  I  should  come  of  age.  His  family,  hke 
ours,  consisted  of  a  son  and  a  daughter,  Rupert  and  Lucy. 
We  were  very  nearly  of  an  age,  Rupert  being  the  oldest  of  the 
four,  and  we  had  grown  up  together  almost  as  brothers  and 

344 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  345 

sisters,  although  as  we  advanced  Lucy  and  I  developed  a  special 
liking  for  each  other  that  required  but  little  to  ripen  into  a  deeper 
sentiment.  The  same  might  be  said  of  Grace  and  Rupert,  al- 
though less  on  his  side  than  on  hers,  for  he  was  of  a  light  and 
volatile  nature,  handsome  but  selfish,  and  soon  grew  away  from 
any  partiality  toward  Grace. 

My  parents  had  designed  me  to  go  to  Yale,  hoping  I  might 
prove  a  successful  lawyer,  while  Mr.  Hardinge  had  settled  it  in 
his  mind  that  Rupert  should  study  for  orders.  But  nature 
was  too  strong  to  be  diverted  by  parental  plans.  Slowly  but 
surely  my  ambition  developed  in  the  direction  of  the  sea.  Ru- 
pert, from  the  force  of  example,  or  because  his  mind  had  no 
settled  aim,  decided  to  go  with  me.  Of  course  our  charming 
sisters,  while  agreeing  that  it  was  all  very  romantic,  did  their 
best  to  dissuade  us  from  such  a  hare-brained  experiment.  But 
they  promised  not  to  divulge  our  secret.  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  for  good  and  all,  and  for  that  very  reason  insisted  that  good 
Mr.  Hardinge  should  have  no  suspicion  of  what  we  proposed 
to  do;  for  as  guardian  and  father  he  would  inevitably  have 
prevented  our  departure.  For  this  reason,  also,  we  sailed 
down  to  New  York  in  a  small  sailboat  after  nightfall,  instead 
of  taking  our  old  freighting  sloop.  "Neb,"  short  for  Nebuchad- 
nezzar, a  bright  young  slave  who  was  greatly  attached  to  me, 
accompanied  us  in  order  to  take  the  boat  back  to  Clawbonny. 
After  taking  an  affecting  farewell  of  our  sisters  and  boyish 
sweethearts,  we  cast  off  to  seek  our  destinies.  It  may  be  that 
a  consciousness  that,  should  I  fail  of  success  in  the  pursuit  I 
had  chosen,  I  still  had  a  competence  to  fall  back  on,  had  some 
influence  in  strengthening  my  resolution. 

As  soon  as  possible  we  betook  ourselves  to  the  wharves 
where  ships  bound  to  the  Indies  were  moored.  After  glancing 
at  a  number,  I  was  especially  attracted  by  the  fine  ship  John, 
a  vessel  of  four  or  five  hundred  tons.  The  mate  invited  us  on 
board  and  led  us  aft  to  the  master,  who  was  on  the  quarter- 
deck. Replying  to  his  questions,  I  stated  that  I  had  some 
means  and  therefore  proposed  going  to  sea  from  sheer  love  for 
it  and  a  desire  to  follow  in  the  steps  of  my  father,  Miles  Walling- 
ford.  Captain  Robbins  started  at  the  name  and  said  he  him- 
self had  sailed  under  Captain  Wallingford,  knew  him  well,  and 


346  AFLOAT  AND   ASHORE 

would  gladly  do  what  he  could  for  any  child  of  his.  For  Ru- 
pert, as  the  son  of  a  parson,  he  showed  less  interest,  evidently 
thinking  from  the  cut  of  his  jib,  as  the  sea-phrase  has  it,  that  he 
gave  but  sHght  promise  of  making  a  sailor;  but  he  agreed  to 
take  him,  and  we  were  asked  to  step  up  and  sign  the  articles. 
The  next  thing  was  to  advance  us  three  months'  wages  and 
furnish  us  each  with  a  suit  of  sea-clothes,  including  a  jaunty 
tarpaulin,  from  the  slop-chest,  as  it  is  called,  out  of  which  the 
crew  may  purchase  such  articles  as  they  require  on  a  voyage 
and  which  are  sold  on  account,  but  not  by  any  means  at  a  dis- 
count. We  were  to  board  the  ship  the  following  day,  as  she 
would  sail  very  soon. 

We  passed  the  interval  looking  over  the  town,  and  had  a 
narrow  escape  from  encountering  poor  Mr.  Hardinge,  who, 
learning  of  our  sudden  flight— how  quickly  such  dead  secrets 
leak  out !— had  hastened  down  to  New  York  to  take  us  home, 
if  he  could  find  our  ship  in  time.  We  met  him  on  Broadway, 
but  in  his  anxiety  he  failed  to  recognize  us  in  our  fine  new 
sailor  suits,  and  we  saw  no  occasion  to  call  his  attention  to  us. 

I  should  say  that  when  we  paid  our  bill  at  the  tavern  we 
look  a  formal  leave  of  Neb,  who  was  to  return  to  Clawbonny. 
But  after  we  cast  off  and  stood  down  the  bay  the  rascal  suddenly 
turned  up,  discovered  by  the  black  cook,  and  ready  to  go  to 
work  as  if  he  were  one  of  the  crew.  He  declared  that  he 
would  never  forsake  me,  and  that  his  fortune  was  bound  up 
with  mine.  On  my  representation  of  the  facts  Captain  Robbins 
agreed  to  take  him,  and  he  was  assigned  to  one  of  the  watches, 
without  pay  excepting  his  bunk  and  food.  Rupert  was  quickly 
diagnosed  by  the  crew,  who  thought  he  had  found  his  right 
berth  when  Captain  Robbins  put  him  to  copying  and  arrang- 
ing his  papers,  for  captains  in  those  days  had  to  be  business 
men  and  supercargoes  as  well  as  seamen.  As  for  myself,  it  took 
me  but  a  week  to  know  the  ropes  and  reef  and  steer  as  if  I  had 
been  at  sea  for  years,  so  readily  does  one  apply  himself  to  his 
true  vocation. 

We  made  the  run  to  China  without  any  unusual  adventure. 
I  was  in  the  starboard  or  first  mate's  watch,  and  Mr.  Marble, 
who  had  taken  a  liking  to  me  from  the  first,  favored  me  in 
various  ways,  especially  by  giving  me  bits  of  information  im- 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  347 

porlant  for  a  sailor  to  know.  As  evidence  that  I  had  the  true 
seafaring  blood  in  me,  I  never  in  my  life  lost  a  meal  or  suffered 
a  qualm  of  seasickness. 

But  when  we  reached  the  region  about  the  Straits  of  Sunda, 
noted  as  a  haunt  of  picarooning  JNIalay  pirates,  we  did  meet 
with  an  exciting  adventure  which  made  some  noise  when 
reported  in  the  papers,  after  our  arrival  in  New  York.  We 
were  attacked  by  several  proas,  or  native  boats,  which  stole 
stealthily  upon  us  in  the  night.  At  the  first  alarm  the  Captain 
and  entire  crew  were  on  deck  quicker  than  I  can  write  of  it. 
We  carried  eight  guns  and  a  supply  of  small  arms,  and  finally 
succeeded  in  beating  off  the  rufhans  with  great  loss.  But  it  was 
a  very  narrow  escape,  for  the  enemy,  favored  by  darkness,  had 
got  so  near,  and  were  so  numerous,  and  so  desperately  deter- 
mined, that  it  lacked  but  little  more  and  they  had  swarmed  on 
board  our  ship  and  massacred  us  all. 

Our  next  adventure  was  less  fortunate  in  its  outcome. 
Captain  Robbins,  like  many  shipmasters,  had  certain  theories 
of  his  own  regarding  currents  and  sea  phenomena,  theories 
less  in  vogue  now  than  formerly,  navigation  and  scientific 
knowledge  having  greatly  advanced.  Trusting  to  his  own  no- 
tions and  ignoring  the  mate's  warning,  he  persisted  in  running 
close  to  the  northern  coast  of  Madagascar.  The  wind  fell,  and 
we  could  not  save  the  ship  from  the  rocks,  amid  the  network 
of  rushing  currents  and  cruel  reefs  where  we  drifted.  Just 
when  we  thought  we  were  finally  clear  the  ship  struck  on  a 
sharp  rock.  We  considered  ourselves  fortunate  to  be  able 
to  get  away  in  the  launch  and  jolly-boat  with  a  few  provisions 
and  breakers  of  water.  We  had  the  choice  of  running  down 
the  coast  along  a  wall  of  steep  cliffs  in  search  of  a  landing, 
or  to  steer  for  the  islet  of  Bourbon,  several  hundred  miles  dis- 
tant in  the  Indian  ocean.  Dreading  the  savages  of  Mada- 
gascar, we  chose  the  latter  course.  Before  long  we  encountered 
a  severe  gale  and  the  boats  were  separated,  with  scarcely  a 
chance  of  ever  meeting  again,  if  indeed  we  did  not  all  go  to 
Davy  Jones.  The  jolly-boat,  in  which  were  the  chief  mate, 
Neb,  and  myself,  with  several  of  the  crew,  at  last  reached  Bour- 
bon, proceeding  thence  to  the  Isle  of  France,  where,  after  a  few 
weeks,  we  found  passage  for  home  in  the  ship  Tigris.     The 


348  AFLOAT   AND   ASHORE 

launcli  was  t:;iven  up  for  lost,  But  remarkable  as  it  may  seem, 
we, ourselves,  on  the  Tigris  picked  her  up  some  days  later.  The 
survivors  were  at  the  last  gasp,  and  Captain  Robbins  barely 
survived  the  hardships  which  grew  out  of  his  theory  of  ocean 
tides  and  currents. 

His  fate,  indeed,  was  not  long  deferred.  In  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Guadaloupe  an  armed  brig  bore  down  on  us  which 
pro\ed  to  be  a  French  privateer;  a  brief,  quasi-war  had  broken 
out  between  the  United  States  and  P'rance  over  a  dispute  as  to 
the  rights  of  neutrals  carrying  provisions  and  materials  of  war 
to  England,  then  at  war  with  Napoleon,  The  privateer  was 
heavily  armed  and  swarmed  with  men.  But  Captain  Digges 
of  the  Tigris  succeeded  in  beating  her  off  with  some  loss,  by 
cleverly  pouring  scalding  water  on  the  boarders  by  means  of  the 
hand  engine  and  hose  used  to  wash  the  decks  and  wet  the 
sails  in  calm  weather. 

Off  the  Capes  of  Delaware  Captain  Robbins  undertook 
to  reach  shore  in  the  boat  which  brought  off  the  pilot.  He  was 
anxious  to  be  the  first  to  convey  news  of  the  loss  of  his  ship.  The 
wind  was  blowing  strong  out  of  the  nor'west.  But  we  hoped 
we  could  get  under  the  lee  of  the  land  before  the  sea  should 
rise.  We  had  aboard  the  two  men  who  had  brought  the  pilot, 
and  Rupert  and  myself,  who  volunteered  for  this  tickUsh 
adventure.  But  our  hopes  of  making  a  landing  were  vain. 
The  wind  rapidly  increased  to  a  furious  gale  and  stirred  up  a 
wild  sea.  Night  was  on  us  and  we  could  reach  neither  our 
ship  nor  the  coast.  Our  doom  was  evidently  at  hand.  We 
toiled  for  hours  until  utterly  exhausted.  Suddenly  the  dark 
form  of  a  coasting  schooner  loomed  upon  us  in  the  shadows.  She 
could  not  hear  our  shouts  and  actually  ran  down  the  yawl,  I 
managed  to  grasp  her  bobstay  as  I  was  going  dowTi,  and,  being 
both  large  and  strong,  pulled  myself  on  board,  as  did  the 
others  in  one  way  and  another,  all  except  poor  Captain  Rob- 
bins, who  was  never  seen  again. 

We  were  landed  on  the  cape  and  made  straight  for  New 
York.  But  the  Tigris  had  already  reached  Philadelphia, 
The  loss  of  the  John  and  of  our  boat  was  thus  reported  in  the 
papers,  with  obituaries  of  Rupert  and  myself.  We  rushed  to  the 
Albany  basin  to  catch  our  sloop  Wallingford,  and  thus  intercept 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  349 

the  sad  tidings.  But  we  learned  that  she  had  just  sailed  with 
Neb  and  our  chests.  Luckily  we  found  that  the  fastest  sloop 
on  the  Hudson  was  on  the  point  of  sailing,  and  we  jumped 
aboard,  hoping  to  reach  Clawbonny  at  least  as  soon  as  the 
Wallingjord.  We  landed  but  a  few  moments  after  the  arrival 
of  the  Wallingjord  and  found  Grace  and  I.ucy  on  the  shore 
weeping  and  wringing  their  hands,  while  Neb,  himself  greatly 
perturbed,  was  relating  to  them  the  incidents  of  the  voyage  and 
his  fear  that  we  had  gone  down  with  the  boat  in  the  storm  off 
the  Jersey  coast.  How  intense  was  the  reaction  of  emotion 
when  the  dear  girls  actually  saw  Rupert  and  myself  appear 
before  them  as  if  raised  from  the  dead! 

I  found  my  affairs  in  capital  condition,  and  a  good  sum  laid 
by  out  of  my  income,  and  most  people  would  suppose  that  by  this 
time  I  had  had  enough  of  the  sea  to  last  for  the  rest  of  my  life, 
especially  as  I  had  not  the  usual  inducement  for  leading  a  sailor's 
life.  But  what  is  in  the  blood  is  not  easily  resisted.  Like 
the  sirens  of  old,  the  voice  of  the  sea  called  to  me  to  go  forth 
again  and  brave  my  fate.  While  I  was  considering  the  matter, 
we  all  took  a  pleasure-trip  to  New  York  in  our  sloop  Walling- 
jord. Dr.  Hardinge  there  found  a  place  in  a  lawyer's  office 
for  Rupert,  who  wanted  never  to  smell  salt  water  again.  As  I 
was  strolling  along  the  wharves,  turning  over  the  matter  in  my 
mind,  I  heard  a  loud  voice  on  the  quarter-deck  of  a  ship  saying 
"There,  Captain  Williams,  there's  just  your  chap;  he'll  make 
as  good  a  third  mate  as  can  be  found  in  all  America."  I  could 
not  on  the  instant  recall  who  the  speaker  was.  But  turning 
in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  I  saw  the  hard  features  of  that 
capital  seaman  Mr.  Marble,  the  ex-mate  of  the  John  in  whose 
watch  I  had  served.  I  bowed,  and  he  beckoned  to  me  to  come 
on  board.  The  vessel  proved  to  be  a  tight  little  ship  of  four 
hundred  tons,  mounting  ten  nine-pounders  in  her  batteries  and 
carrying  letters  of  marque  for  a  voyage  around  the  world. 
After  an  interview  of  fifteen  minutes  Captain  Williams  accepted 
Mr.  INIarble's  suggestion,  and  offered  me  the  berth  of  third  mate. 
I  stood  six  feet  two  in  my  stockings,  although  only  eighteen, 
and  so  far  as  T  knew  had  won  the  approval  of  my  superiors.  I 
therefore  felt  a  humble  confidence  in  my  ability  to  fill  the  place 
offered  to  me.     I  looked  carefully  over  the  ship,  scrutinized  the 


350  AFLOAT  AND   ASHORE 

Captain  on  the  sly,  finally  accepting  the  offer  on  condition  that  Neb 
should  be  taken  as  an  ordinary  seaman.  By  Marble's  earnest  ad- 
vice this  arrangement  was  agreed  to.  Six  days  later  the  good  ship 
Crisis  put  to  sea  with  a  crew,  fore  and  aft,  of  thirty -eight  souls. 

I  had  some  reason  to  believe  that  Lucy  Hardinge,  who  had 
matured  into  a  most  lovely  girl,  responded  to  sentiments  of 
which  I  myself  had  become  conscious.  But  as  I  was  still  an 
infant  before  the  law,  and  was  thoroughly  wedded  to  the  sea, 
this  matter  bore  as  yet  but  little  influence  on  my  plans;  and  I 
was  at  an  age,  too,  when  the  spirit  of  adventure  is,  to  the  adven- 
turous, like  a  consuming  fire. 

As  we  neared  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic  we  encountered 
the  French  letter-of-marque  La  Dame  de  Nantes,  a  powerful 
ship  carrying  a  crew  much  more  numerous  than  ours.  In  the 
severe  and  bloody  fight  which  followed  she  so  far  succeeded  in 
crippling  us  as  to  be  able  to  escape.  But  several  days  later, 
having  made  repairs,  we  surprised  her  in  a  heavy  fog  and  before 
she  could  pref)are  for  the  new  encounter  we  captured  her  by  a 
coup  de  main.  She  mounted  twelve  nines  with  a  crew  of  eighty- 
three  souls,  and  her  cargo  was  valued  at  sixty  thousand  dollars. 
My  share  of  the  prize  amounted  to  eleven  hundred  and  seventy- 
three  dollars. 

The  Dame  de  Nantes  was  sent  to  America,  and  the  next  day 
we  laid  our  course  westward.  Before  long  we  overtook  a  vessel 
that  proved  to  be  a  prize  captured  by  the  Dame,  and  which  was 
on  the  way  to  France  manned  by  a  French  crew.  It  did  not 
take  long  for  us  to  seize  her,  and  I  was  appointed  as  master  to 
take  her  to  London,  where  she  would  be  sold  as  prize  of  war. 
The  next  morning  when  I  took  charge  of  the  deck  I  found 
myself  on  the  wide  ocean,  with  no  other  ships  in  sight,  at  the 
age  of  eighteen,  and  in  the  enemy's  seas,  with  a  valuable  vessel 
to  care  for,  my  way  to  find  into  narrow  waters  that  I  had  never 
entered,  and  a  crew  on  board  of  whom  just  one-half  were  now  on 
their  first  voyage.  Seamanship,  navigation,  address,  prudence — 
all  depended  on  me.  But  the  first  six  hours  set  me  quite  at  my 
ease,  and  the  fact  that  Neb,  ever  bright,  good-natured  and 
faithful,  was  with  me  took  away  some  of  the  sense  of  loneliness. 
We  reached  London  safely,  and  the  prize  and  cargo  were  sold 
for  a  good  sum.     But  near  the  Downs  we  had  a  very  narrow 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  351 

escape  from  a  powerful  French  privateer,  whose  large  crew 
would  have  surely  overpowered  us  but  for  a  timelv  trick  we 
played  on  them  which  effected  our  escape. 

Soon  after  on  the  Thames  we  were  joined  by  the  Crisis. 
Having  disposed  of  her  cargo  and  shipped  another,  Captain 
Williams  now  shaped  a  course  for  Cape  Horn  and  the 
Pacific,  where  we  met  with  furious  weather  and  several  times 
gave  up  all  hope  of  saving  either  ship  or  crew.  After  escaping 
by  way  of  the  Straits  of  Magellan  the  fury  of  Cape  Horn, 
we  cruised  five  months  along  the  west  coast  of  South  America, 
touching  at  numerous  little  ports  and  trading  chiefly  by  smug- 
gling. The  guardacostas  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  us  and  we  had 
several  smart  fights.  From  there  we  proceeded  north  as  high 
as  53°.  The  stern  and  solitary  coast  of  that  latitude  was  in- 
habited wholly  by  savages,  who  traded  in  furs  with  the  ships 
that  ventured  into  that  inhospitable  region.  Great  caution 
was  required  in  dealing  with  these  treacherous  natives,  as  we 
found  to  our  cost.  Anchoring  in  a  sheltered  bay,  the  ship 
was  soon  visited  by  a  crowd  of  savages.  Forgetting  the  ex- 
perience of  others,  we  fell  into  the  trap  prepared  for  us.  The 
savages  suddenly  attacked.  Captain  Williams  was  slain  and 
the  deck  was  crowded  by  over  five  score  of  natives  led  by  their 
cunning  and  powerful  chief,  Smudge.  I  was  in  some  degree 
to  blame  for  this  catastrophe,  for  I  had  fallen  to  sleep  when  on 
watch.  For  hours  in  the  early  morning  I  was  the  only  white 
nian  on  deck,  a  prisoner  kept  there  to  aid  the  savages  in  swing- 
ing the  ship  into  a  creek  where  she  could  be  stripped  and  burned. 
By  the  practise  of  a  cunning  equal  to  theirs  I  managed  to  get 
sail  on  the  dismantled  spars,  and  to  let  the  crew  out  from  their 
imprisonment  below  the  deck.  The  savages  were  surprised 
and  overpowered.  Some  leaped  into  the  sea;  others,  panic- 
stricken,  were  killed  like  sheep.  Smudge,  the  leader  of  the 
plot  and  an  able  man,  even  though  a  tawny,  unwashed  bar- 
barian, was  hanged  from  the  yard-arm,  in  spite  of  my  earnest 
pleading  with  the  Captain,  for  I  saw  some  excuse  for  his  act. 

From  this  scene  of  blood  we  stood  southwest  and  put  into  the 
lagoon  of  a  low,  lonely  coral  island,  hitherto  unknown.  Not 
imagining  it  to  be  inhabited,  except  by  turtles  and  scabirds,  we 
all  slept  well  that  night,  being  greatly  fatigued  after  the  laborious 


352  AFLOAT   AND  ASHORE 

and  dangerous  passage  through  the  rocky  inlet  of  the  lagoon 
by  moonlight.  1  was  aroused  by  the  voice  of  Marble,  who  had 
became  caj^tain  after  the  murder  of  Williams,  while  I  had 
been  promoted  to  be  second  mate.  He  whispered  in  a  hoarse 
voice,  "Mutiny!  there's  mutiny  on  board."  He  then  ex- 
y.lained  that  the  companionway  was  fastened  down.  As- 
toimded  at  the  news,  I  too  examined  the  companionway 
and  at  the  same  time  heard  low  voices  and  suppressed  laughter. 
The  mystery  was  solved  in  a  few  moments  by  a  statement  from 
above  in  broken  and  peculiarly  French-English,  to  the  effect 
that  the  good  ship  Crisis  was  the  prize  of  the  crew  of  a  French 
privateer  which  had  been  shipwrecked  on  the  island,  and  was 
waiting  for  just  such  a  chance  as  this  to  get  away.  They  had 
no  desire  to  harm  us,  they  said;  all  they  wanted  was  the  ship, 
which  vv^e  were  cordially  invited  to  surrender  without  resistance 
or  delay.  The  language  used  in  the  cabin  of  the  Crisis  on  this 
summons  was  in  a  low  key  but  eloquently  profane;  it  did  not, 
however,  alter  the  situation.  Expostulation  was  useless  and 
hence  undignified,  and  we  accepted  the  invitation  to  quit  our 
ship,  not  without  a  certain  sense  of  the  grim  humor  of  the  thing. 

But  we  succeeded  in  turning  the  tables  on  the  French  in  a 
way  they  least  expected.  From  the  wreck  of  their  own  ship 
they  had  nearly  completed  the  construction  of  a  small  schooner 
by  which  they  hoped  to  gain  the  coast  of  South  America.  After 
they  had  sailed  we  completed  this  schooner  in  about  a  third  of 
the  time  they  had  evidently  expected  to  take.  We  overtook  the 
Crisis  by  piling  on  all  sail  and  carried  her  by  storm,  killing  her 
polite  but  incautious  captain  and  several  of  her  crew.  Masters 
once  more  of  the  good  ship  Crisis,  we  resumed  our  voyage 
home  by  way  of  China.  In  the  China  Sea  we  were  attacked, 
as  had  already  happened  to  me  on  my  first  voyage,  by  twenty 
piratical  proas,  but  escaped  unharmed  after  killing  a  lot  of  the 
ruffians  and  sinking  several  of  their  boats. 

On  arriving  home,  I  found  Mr.  Hardinge  so  thoroughly 
convinced  that  sea  life  was  my  vocation  that  he  paid  $15,000 
out  of  my  estate  very  cheerfully  in  order  to  purchase  a  new 
ship  for  me.  She  was  just  five  hundred  tons  and  her  name 
was  the  Daivn.  In  my  first  voyage  with  her  she  cleared  for 
me  sixty-five  per  cent,  of  her  purchase  price. 


MILES  WALLINGFORD  (1844) 

The  pictures  of  town  and  country,  and  of  social  customs,  in  Miles  Walling- 
ford  were  drawn  from  the  author's  personal  experiences  and  memories  of  his 
boyhood.  One  of  the  most  flagrant  poHtical  evils  of  that  dale  was  the  outrageous 
wrongs  inflicted  by  the  English  pressgangs.  This,  and  the  gross  injustice  of 
England  and  France  toward  American  ships,  furnished  Cooper  with  his  theme. 
All  the  details  of  the  last  cruise  of  the  Dawn  are  historical. 


HEN  Miles  Wallingford  and  Andrew  Drewett 
were  rescued  from  drowning  by  Neb  Clawbonny, 
and  dragged  aboard  the  Wallingfoi'd,  Drewett' s 
mother  and  sisters  came  over  from  the  other 
sloop,  and  insisted  on  remaining,  which  pre- 
vented Miles  from  seeing  as  much  as  he  would 
have  liked  of  Lucy  Hardinge.  As  the  Walling- 
jord  sailed  on  up  the  river,  Moses  Marble  in- 
formed Miles  that  Mrs.  Drewett  had  given  him 
to  understand  that  Andrew  had  been  actuated  by  love  for  Lucy 
to  "play  rope-dancer  on  the  main-boom";  that  the  betrothal 
of  the  two  was  as  good  as  settled;  and  that  she  already  re- 
garded Lucy  as  her  third  daughter.  Miles  resigned  himself 
to  what  he  assumed  to  be  reasonable  and  natural,  and  re- 
frained from  the  expression  of  his  own  love.  Soon  very  serious 
matters  engrossed  his  attention.  When  they  had  come  in 
sight  of  Albany,  and  all  the  passengers,  including  Lucy  and 
his  invalid  sister  Grace,  were  on  deck,  a  sloop  ahead  passed  so 
near  that  Grace  could  not  avoid  seeing  the  Mertons  and  Rupert 
Hardinge  on  the  quarter-deck;  and  Emily  Merton  and  Rupert 
called  over  to  Lucy.  Grace  withdrew,  half-fainting,  to  the 
cabin,  Miles's  intention  had  been  to  land,  but  he  was  asked  by 
Lucy  to  put  the  Drewetts  and  the  doctor  ashore,  and  return 
down  the  river,  instead  of  going  to  Ballston  Springs,  whither 
the  other  party  were  bound. 

Presently  the  sloop  was  brought  to  a  slop  Ijy  a  dead  calm, 
A.D.,  VOL.  v.— 23  35^ 


354  MILES  WALLINGFORD 

and  Miles  and  Marble  rowed  ashore,  landing  at  a  gravelly  cove, 
near  a  neat,  comfortable  stone  cottage.  So  attractive  was 
everything  about  it  and  the  site  that  Miles  suggested  to  Marble 
to  purchase  it  for  the  "hermitage"  he  often  talked  about. 
With  a  view  to  negotiations,  they  decided  to  ask  the  occupants 
for  a  drink  of  milk.  The  healthy-looking  woman,  nearly 
seventy  years  of  age,  who  received  them  thought  they  had  been 
sent  by  a  neighbor,  Mr.  Van  Tassel,  to  inquire  about  the  money 
due  on  a  mortgage.  Eventually  she  became  confidential  and 
toM  them  her  story.  Her  father,  of  Dutch  descent,  hated  the 
New  Englanders  of  English  descent.  But  she  fell  in  love  with 
George  Wetmore,  the  New  England  schoolmaster  employed  to 
teach  the  Dutch  children  of  the  neighborhood  English,  and 
secretly  married  him,  after  her  father  had  refused  his  consent. 
Her  first  child,  a  boy,  was  bom  (unknown  to  her  parents)  at 
the  house  of  a  kinswoman,  and  entrusted  by  her  husband  to 
a  woman  who  had  lost  her  own  babe.  A  few  weeks  later  she 
was  informed  that  her  child  was  dead;  and  her  grief  betrayed 
her  secret  to  her  parents,  who  forgave  her  and  took  her  husband 
to  their  home.  Thirty  years  later,  the  woman  to  whom  the 
child  had  been  entrusted  confessed  the  truth  on  her  death-bed: 
she  had  left  the  baby  in  a  basket  on  a  tombstone  in  a  marble- 
worker's  yard  in  the  town.  The  baby  had  been  taken  to  the 
almshouse,  where  it  received  the  name  of  Stone. 

The  unhappy  parents  found  the  record  of  a  Stone,  and 
learned  that  he  was  now  a  soldier  in  an  infantry  regiment  which 
had  gone  to  England  after  the  Revolutionary  War.  Wetmore 
mortgaged  his  farm  to  obtain  money  to  find  his  child;  but 
Stone  knew  his  parents,  one  of  whom  had  died  in  the  alms- 
house. Van  Tassel,  who  wanted  the  farm.,  allowed  the  interest 
to  accumulate  until  it  amounted  to  nearly  a  thousand  dollars. 
But  just  before  his  death,  Wetmore  succeeded  in  selling  a 
portion  of  his  land  and  paying  the  debt.  He  showed  his  wife 
the  receipt,  the  money  having  been  paid  at  the  county  town, 
where  the  mortgage  and  bond  could  not  then  be  produced.  A 
year  later,  when  the  widow  was  advised  to  demand  the  bond 
and  have  the  mortgage  taken  from  the  record,  she  could  not 
find  the  receipt,  and  allowed  the  fact  to  leak  out.  Then  Van 
Tassel  demanded  proof  of  payment;  and  in  default  thereof  the 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  355 

farm  was  now  advertised  to  be  sold  at  auction  in  three  weeks. 
Miles  told  the  sorrowful  woman  that  Marble  was  her  son — 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that — and  Marble  promptly  under- 
took to  deal  with  Van  Tassel.  After  he  and  Miles  had  had  an 
interview  with  the  man,  Marble  went  to  New  York  by  stage 
to  procure  the  money  in  time  to  prevent  the  sale;  if  the  receipt 
were  found  later  on,  Van  Tassel  would  have  to  refund  the  sum. 

Prompted  by  the  sight  of  Rupert  with  Emily  Merton,  Grace 
had  had  a  conversation  with  Lucy  which  the  latter  repeated  to 
Miles,  on  his  return  from  Van  Tassel's.  Lucy  strongly  con- 
demned her  brother's  conduct.  He  had  been  distinctly  engaged 
to  Grace  from  the  time  the  latter  was  fifteen,  and  had  now 
deserted  her  for  Emily  Merton,  under  the  impression  that  Emily 
was  wealthy  and  of  social  position  in  England.  He  was 
mercenary  and  not  always  truthful,  Lucy  said.  Grace  had 
offered  to  release  him,  but  he  had  tried  to  place  the  blame 
on  her;  and  had  finally  said  that  he  could  not  afford  to 
marry,  since  Mrs.  Bradfort  had  left  Lucy  the  whole  of  her 
property:  yet  he  tried  to  make  the  world  believe  that  he 
was  the  sole  Bradfort  heir.  It  was  decided  to  sail  down  to 
New  York  for  further  medical  advice;  but  Grace  begged  to 
be  taken  home  to  Clawbonny.  This  was  done,  and  she  soon 
died  of  a  broken  heart.  As  she  was  not  of  age,  she  could  not 
make  a  will;  but  she  begged  Miles  to  give  Rupert  the  twenty 
thousand  dollars  which  would  remain  of  her  property  after 
deducting  a  few  gifts.  Rupert  showed  little  hesitation  about 
accepting  the  money  when,  after  the  funeral.  Miles,  controlling 
his  feelings  towards  his  former  friend,  offered  him  a  draft  on 
the  spot. 

One  of  the  persons  who  unexpectedly  appeared  at  the 
funeral  was  John  Wallingford,  the  bachelor  cousin  of  Miles's 
father,  who  had  prospered  in  the  western  part  of  the  State. 
Grace  had  asked  Miles,  the  last  time  he  went  to  sea,  to  leave 
Clawbonny  to  John  Wallingford  instead  of  to  her,  as  a  Walling- 
ford ought  to  own  the  place,  though  there  were  nearer  relatives 
of  other  names.  John  Wallingford  was  blunt,  but  made  a  good 
impression  on  Miles.  Accordingly,  when  the  latter  declared 
that  he  expected  to  remain  a  bachelor  (assuming  that  Lucy 
was  betrothed  to  Drewett),  John  proposed  that  the  fate  of  Claw- 


356  MILES   WALLINGFORD 

bonny  should  be  made  sure  by  Miles  leaving  it  to  him,  by  will, 
in  default  of  direct  heirs.  This  Miles  readily  promised  to  do, 
as  soon  as  he  should  reach  New  York;  and  he  made  an  appoint- 
ment to  meet  John  there  shortly.  The  will  was  duly  made, 
and  John,  in  turn,  bequeathed  all  his  property  to  Miles,  Miles's 
will  remaining  in  the  possession  of  John.  Then,  finding  that 
Miles  had  lost  the  freight  for  his  ship,  on  account  of  his  recent 
troubles,  John  offered  to  advance  him  forty  thousand  dollars  to 
purchase  a  cargo,  the  security  to  be  a  mortgage  on  Clawbonny, 
and  Miles  accepted  the  offer.  Marble  took  charge,  having 
paid  off  Van  Tassel  and  shown  the  sights  of  New  York  to  his 
mother  and  to  his  niece  Kitty,  the  only  surviving  relative,  in 
part  of  which  sightseeing  Miles  took  part.  Before  he  sailed 
Miles  received  a  letter  from  Lucy  which  showed  her  affection, 
and  one  from  John  Wallingford  which  rendered  him  somewhat 
uneasy;  his  relative  showed  an  alarming  amount  of  anxiety 
about  Clawbonny,  it  seemed,  though  he  informed  Miles  that 
he  had  left  many  important  documents  in  the  hands  of  his 
lawyer,  a  fact  which  proved  of  importance  later  on. 

Miles's  destination  was  Hamburg.  But  before  the  pilot 
went  over  the  side  of  the  ship  he  pointed  out  a  distant  sail,  and 
warned  Miles  to  give  that  vessel  as  wdde  a  berth  as  possible. 
It  was  the  English  ship  Leander,  he  said,  which  had  been  lying 
about  for  a  week,  with  results  that  appeared  to  mean  trouble 
for  American  ships.  Some  had  been  seen  to  steer  northeast 
toward  Halifax,  after  she  had  boarded  them;  and  Miles  might 
find  himself  ordered  thither  or  to  Bermuda,  on  account  of  his 
cargo  (grown  in  the  West  Indies)  and  of  his  men.  Impress- 
ment at  sea,  and  out  of  neutral  vessels,  had  been  revived  with 
the  renewal  of  the  war;  and  all  American  ships  felt  the  ex- 
pediency of  avoiding  cruisers  that  might  deprive  them  of  their 
men.  It  was  the  practise  to  put  the  mariner  on  the  defensive, 
and  to  assume  that  every  man  was  an  Englishman  who  could 
not  prove,  a  thousand  miles  from  land,  perhaps,  that  he  was  an 
American;  so  that  English  navy  officers  exercised  a  jurisdiction 
over  foreigners  and  under  a  foreign  flag  that  would  not  have 
been  tolerated  in  the  Lord  High  Chancellor  himself  in  the 
streets  of  London.  Naturally  injustice  and  abuses  were 
numerous,  often  flagrant. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  357 

Before  long  the  Leander  sighted  the  Dawn,  Wallingford's 
ship,  and  began  the  chase.  The  Dawn  was  a  very  fast  vessel, 
but  after  an  anxious  interval  it  managed  to  escape  only  by 
passing  through  a  dangerous  channel  known  to  Marble,  at 
the  end  of  Long  Island.  On  the  thirty-sixth  day  out  they 
sighted  an  English  frigate,  but  hoped  they  had  escaped  her 
notice  in  the  thick  weather.  After  a  desperate  attempt  to 
escape,  Miles  decided  that  he  would  trust  to  the  goodness  of 
his  cause,  and  allow  himself  to  be  boarded.  He  was  forced  to 
show  his  papers;  and  despite  the  fact  that  the  cargo  of  sugar, 
coffee,  and  cochineal  came  partly  from  French,  partly  from 
English  colonies  in  the  West  Indies,  the  captain  of  the  frigate 
Speedy  ordered  the  Dawn  sent  to  Plymouth,  under  the  pretext 
that  Bonaparte  was  getting  too  much  influence  on  the  Conti- 
nent, and  was  suspected  of  being  popular  in  Hamburg. 

In  vain  did  Miles  urge  that  his  cargo  (which,  like  the  vessel, 
was  his  own  property)  was  from  the  last  year's  crops,  and  did 
not  come  under  the  rule  which  had  arisen  since,  which  would 
make  them  grown  by  enemies  to  England.  The  English 
claimed  several  Americans  and  other  non-British  subjects  as 
Englishmen,  took  all  the  crew  aboard  the  Speedy  except  Miles, 
Marble,  Neb,  and  the  cook,  and  put  a  prize  crew  aboard.  Miles 
anxiously  reflected  that  the  impending  delay  of  at  least  two 
months  might  put  payment  of  his  note  to  John  Wallingford  at 
maturity  out  of  the  question,  and  unfavorably  affect  the  mort- 
gage on  Clawbonny.  He  resolved  to  recover  the  ship  at  the 
first  opportunity,  and  arranged  matters  with  that  view,  so  that 
he  and  jMarble  could  confer  without  arousing  suspicion.  By  a 
ruse.  Marble  soon  got  the  Englishmen  (with  three  exceptions), 
into  the  ship's  boat,  to  rescue  a  fictitious  man  overboard.  Then 
they  furnished  the  rescuers  with  food  and  water,  and  undertook 
to  tow  them  for  a  while,  before  leaving  them  to  be  picked  up 
or  to  make  their  way  to  port.  After  mature  deliberation  Miles 
decided  to  sail  for  a  French  port,  Bordeaux  by  preference,  where 
he  could  either  dispose  of  the  cargo  or  ship  a  new  crew  and 
sail  for  his  destination;  for  not  only  was  the  danger  of  en- 
countering many  English  vessels  in  the  Channel  very  great, 
but  they  could  hardly  hope  to  work  the  vessel  long  with  only 
four  hands.     The  next  day,  sighting  an  English  West  Indiaman, 


358  MILES   WALLINGFORD 

Miles  cut  tho  boat  loose;  its  crew  were  taken  aboard  the  vessel, 
and  after  being  carried  to  Barbados  were  landed  in  England 
(as  he  learned)  six  months  later.  The  Dawn  easily  escaped 
from  this  vessel,  and  Miles  was  overjoyed  when  he  soon  after 
sighted  a  French  lugger,  as  he  confidently  expected  succor 
from  such  a  source.  To  his  astonishment,  however,  the 
Captain  of  the  Polisson  announced  that  the  Daitm  was  a  lawful 
prize,  as  it  had  been  prisoner  to  the  English;  and,  America 
being  neutral,  they  could  not  capture  themselves  again  from 
the  English!  There  was  nothing  to  be  done;  Miles  reflected 
that  the  American  Minister  would  protect  him,  once  he  reached 
port.  At  any  rate,  they  could  hardly  hope  to  get  rid  of  the 
prize  crew  of  seventeen  which  was  put  aboard  as  easily  as  they 
had  of  the  English  prize  crew,  especially  as  Miles  had  in- 
cautiously told  the  Captain  of  the  Polisson  exactly  how  that  had 
been  managed.  When  they  were  within  three  leagues  of  land 
an  English  frigate  appeared,  and  the  Frenchmen  were  evidently 
much  alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  winding  up  on  an  English 
prison-ship.  A  race  ensued.  When  the  English  ship  was 
almost  within  gunshot,  a  French  fishing-boat  came  alongside, 
and  the  French  commander  consulted  the  crew  as  to  the  possi- 
bility of  sending  the  Dawn  through  some  of  the  narrow  passages 
between  the  rocky  islands  which  lay  before  them.  Miles  suc- 
ceeded in  persuading  the  Frenchmen  to  investigate  for  them- 
selves in  the  fishing  boat,  and  so  rid  himself  of  all  except  three 
Frenchmen.  Then,  by  risking  destruction  on  hidden  rocks  in 
the  narrow  channels,  he  contrived  to  elude  the  pursuit  both  of 
the  English  and  the  French.  The  next  day  the  Polisson 
appeared  again,  pursued  by  two  English  ships  of  war,  and  with 
two  French  warships  hovering  near;  but  the  Captain  found 
time  to  board  the  Dawn  and  ask  an  explanation,  which  Miles 
gave  him,  candidly  but  briefly,  as  the  English  corvette  was 
drawing  near,  and  the  Polisson  was  in  danger.  One  of  the 
English  ships  proved  to  be  the  Speedy,  but  she  had  no  time  to 
inquire  why  the  Dawn  was  not  in  Plymouth  harbor,  though  she 
recognized  her.  Soon  there  was  a  terrific  battle  between  the 
Speedy  and  the  Black  Prince  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  French 
ships  La  Desiree  and  Le  Cerf  on  the  other.  Miles  lay  to,  out  of 
range  of  the  guns,  and  watched  the  battle,  which  the  Enghsh 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  359 

won,  chiefly  because  of  their  superiority  in  repairing  damages 
between  the  shocks  of  the  engagement.  In  the  excitement 
after  the  battle,  the  Dawn's  men  escaped  from  the  Speedy  in 
a  boat  and  were  pursued.  The  Dawn  even  managed  to  throw 
them  a  rope,  but  when  the  rope  parted  was  obhged  to  abandon 
them. 

Miles  decided  to  make  for  Hamburg  by  way  of  the  Irish 
channel  and  round  the  north  of  Scotland,  where  fewer  English 
cruisers  were  to  be  feared.  Though  chased  by  a  vessel  set  on 
them  by  the  Scilly  pilot,  who  was  suspicious,  the  Daie^w  escaped 
and  made  fair  headway  until  near  Liverpool,  when  Miles  de- 
cided that  he  must  anchor  on  the  Irish  coast,  or  be  blown  out 
into  the  Atlantic  by  the  strong  wind.  The  anchorage  which 
he  made,  under  the  guidance  of  ignorant  Irish  fishermen,  was 
not  sufficiently  protected;  and  as  the  storm  increased  hi  violence, 
the  cables  broke,  and  the  ship  was  driven  before  the  gale  into 
the  Atlantic,  in  the  midst  of  a  terrible  storm.  Neb  and  the  cook 
were  washed  overboard,  leaving  only  Miles  and  Marble  on 
board.  The  wreckage  of  the  masts,  yards,  and  sails  threatened 
to  beat  in  the  side  of  the  ship,  and  needed  to  be  cleared  away. 
When  the  weather  became  somewhat  quieter,  Marble  under- 
took the  task  of  cutting  it  adrift  from  the  ship,  which  he  suc- 
ceeded in  doing,  but  was  himself  carried  off  with  it. 

Thus  left  alone  on  the  ship,  Miles  had  no  further  thought 
of  saving  it.  He  watched  Marble  on  the  wreckage  as  long  as 
it  was  in  sight.  Then  he  tried  to  run  the  ship  in  the  direction 
it  had  taken,  in  the  effort  to  effect  a  rescue.  But  the  water  in 
the  hold  increased  rapidly,  and  it  was  evident  the  Dawn  would 
soon  sink.  At  sunset,  he  mentally  bade  farewell  to  Lucy  and 
all  the  Clawbonny  friends,  and  was  taking  what  he  thought  was 
his  last  look  on  the  ocean,  when,  about  a  mile  away,  he  dis- 
cerned the  wreck  and  upon  it  an  object  which  he  assumed  to 
be  Marble,  either  dead  or  asleep.  He  managed  to  run  the  ship 
alongside,  and  secure  a  hold  on  the  wreck;  but  the  object  he 
had  taken  for  Marble  proved  to  be  the  bunt  of  a  sail;  Marble 
had  vanished.  The  next  morning  he  constructed  a  raft  from 
the  wreckage  and  some  extra  spars,  provisioned  it,  put  his  chest 
of  money,  clothing,  and  valuables  aboard,  and  shoved  off  at  sun- 
set, the  ocean  being  then  very  calm.     In  the  morning  the  Dawn 


36o  MILES  WALLINGFORD 

had  disappeared;  it  had  quietly  sunk.  Twenty-four  hours 
later,  in  his  troubled  sleep,  he  thought  he  heard  Marble  and 
Neb  conversing,  saying  affectionately  things  about  him,  the 
family,  and  Lucy  Hardinge.  When  he  awoke,  at  dawn,  he  saw 
a  boat  ten  yards  from  him — the  boat  in  which  Neb  had  been 
washed  overboard;  and  it  now  had  masts  and  sails  which  it 
had  not  had  at  the  catastrophe.  In  the  launch,  also,  was 
Marble.  Neb  had  managed  to  keep  the  launch  afloat,  and 
steering  back  to  help  the  Dawn,  if  possible,  had  rescued  Marble 
from  the  wreckage,  half  drowned;  and  the  two  had  then  con- 
tinued their  search  for  the  ship,  and  had  approached  the  raft 
in  the  darkness.  As  the  boat  had  water  and  provisions  on 
board,  they  were  in  good  condition.  An  English  frigate,  the 
Briton,  after  nearly  running  them  down,  took  them  on  board, 
where  the  captain  treated  them  handsomely,  and  promised  to 
put  them  on  the  first  vessel  which  offered,  as  he  was  bound  on 
a  three  months'  cruise. 

After  a  time  covering  more  than  two  months,  in  which 
they  met  no  vessel  bound  in  the  right  direction,  the  Briton 
started  for  Plymouth  to  get  water,  and  presently  encountered  a 
fine  French  ship,  with  which  she  had  a  severe  battle.  Miles, 
Neb,  and  Marble  were  supposed  to  keep  below,  but  involuntarily 
joined  in  the  service.  Neb  at  the  sails.  Marble  fighting  one  of 
the  guns,  and  Miles  helping  the  wounded.  But  when  the 
Captain  was  killed,  and  his  commanding  officer  (who  disliked 
the  Americ'a.ns)  succeeded  him,  all  three  were  less  well  treated. 
Moreover,  when  the  victorious  Briton  encountered  the  Speedy 
on  her  way  to  port,  and  the  Captain  of  the  latter  came  aboard  to 
report  to  his  superior  officer,  and  found  that  he  himself  was  now 
the  senior  captain,  he  demanded  a  severe  accounting  from  Miles, 
who  was  accused  of  having  murdered  the  prize  crew  from  the 
Speedy;  and  the  Briton's  commander  claimed  Marble  and  Neb, 
on  the  grounds  of  their  service  during  the  recent  engagement. 
They  were  all  transferred  to  the  Speedy;  Miles  was  put  in  irons 
(loose  enough  for  him  to  slip  off  easily),  and  placed  under  the 
guard  of  a  sentinel.  He  remained  thus,  otherwise  well  treated, 
for  five  months,  until  April,  1804,  never  exchanging  a  syllable 
during  that  time  with  either  Marble  or  Neb.  At  last  they  went 
into  port,  carrying  with  them  a  French  prize,  and  Marble  and 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  361 

Neb  having  volunteered  for  the  duty,  they  were  sent  aboard  the 
latter  as  members  of  the  prize  crew.  The  purser  of  the  Speedy 
informed  Miles  that  they  had  not  joined  the  British  navy,  but 
had  been  put  aboard  the  prize  lest,  if  the  Speedy  were  to  meet  a 
French  cruiser  in  the  channel,  Alarble  and  Neb  might  refuse 
to  fight.  They  had  done  duty  for  the  sake  of  their  health,  they 
said  themselves.  Just  as  the  Speedy  came  to,  at  sunset,  in 
Plymouth  Sound,  with  her  prize  not  far  away.  Miles  heard  the 
Captain  say  that  the  "prisoner"  must  be  moved  to  some  other 
place  on  the  morrow,  as  it  was  not  safe  to  trust  him  at  a  port- 
hole so  near  the  land.  Just  then  he  heard  a  boat  come  along- 
side, bringing  the  prize-master  of  the  French  ship;  and  looking 
from  his  port,  he  saw  that  Marble  and  Neb  were  in  it.  At  a 
signal  from  Miles  they  remained  in  the  boat,  while  the  other 
two  men  followed  their  officer  aboard  the  frigate  for  a  chat 
with  their  mates.  Just  then  the  officer  of  the  deck  ordered 
Marble  and  Neb  to  drop  astern,  and  make  room  for  the  Captain's 
gig.  Miles  slipped  off  his  irons,  squeezed  between  the  gun 
and  the  side  of  the  port,  and  hung  over  the  water,  suspended 
by  his  hands.  Marble  caught  him  by  the  legs  as  they  passed 
beneath,  dragged  him  into  the  cutter,  and  whispered  to  him  to 
lie  down  in  the  bottom.  No  one  had  seen  him,  and  as  soon  as 
the  Captain  had  departed  in  his  gig.  Neb  disentangled  his  boat- 
hook  from  the  rudder-chains,  and  the  cutter  was  swept  away 
from  the  frigate  by  a  powerful  tide,  aided  by  a  stiff  breeze. 
None  of  the  three  had  a  penny,  a  morsel  of  food,  or  an  article 
of  clothing  save  what  they  wore.  But  they  put  boldly  to  sea, 
steering  northeast,  and  after  barely  escaping  an  English  frigate 
were  picked  up  by  an  American  vessel  bound  for  Amsterdam. 
Quitting  this  ship  off  the  coast  of  Holland,  they  went  to  Ham- 
burg, where  Miles  expected  to  find  letters;  but  there  were  none, 
and  they  had  no  money.  So  they  shipped  on  a  Philadelphia 
vessel  to  work  their  way  home,  Miles  as  second  mate,  Marble 
and  Neb  as  sailors.  Soon  Miles's  pride  (which  suffered  from 
his  descent  in  the  social  scale)  was  fattered  by  being  promoted 
to  be  first  mate,  and  Marble  took  his  place  as  second  mate. 

It  was  not  until  September  that  they  reached  Philadelphia. 
When  they  were  paid  off,  they  had  one  hundred  and  thirty-two 
dollars  between  them,  with  which  sum  they  went  to  New  York. 


362  MILES  WALLINGFORD 

Immediately  after  reaching  that  city,  Miles  met  a  man  who  had 
been  the  miller  at  Clawbonny  from  his  infancy  to  the  day  he 
had  left  home,  and  learned  that  the  mortgage  had  been  fore- 
closed and  the  property  sold  to  a  man  named  Daggett,  a 
relative  of  John  Wallingford  on  the  mother's  side.  John 
Wallingford  had  visited  the  place  two  months  previously, 
directly  after  Miles's  fate  had  seemed  certain,  had  spoken 
kindly  to  all,  and  it  was  understood  that  the  Wallingford  rule 
was  to  continue.  He  had  not  appeared  later,  although  it  was 
generally  understood  that  he  had  a  right  to  all  Miles's  belongings 
by  will.  Daggett  gave  no  information.  Lucy  Hardinge  had 
purchased  the  cattle  and  personal  property,  and  removed  all 
to  a  neighboring  farm.  Rupert  Hardinge  was  married  to 
Emily  Merton,  and  now  occupied  one  of  the  best  houses  in 
New  York.  Lucy  herself  (to  IMiles's  surprise)  was  not  married 
to  Andrew  Drewett.  As  Wallingford,  in  his  sailor's  garb,  was 
strolling  along  tue  street  with  Miles,  Rupert  addressed  the 
latter,  not  recognizing  Miles  until  Marble  called  his  attention; 
he  apologized  for  not  inviting  him  into  the  house,  because  his 
wife  was  too  refined  to  endure  such  clothing,  and  patronizingly 
promised  to  bear  him  in  mind  if  he  heard  of  a  job.  The  next 
morning,  as  Miles  was  about  to  consult  a  lawyer  concerning 
the  insurance  on  his  ship  and  cargo,  he  was  arrested,  Daggett, 
who  had  bought  Clawbonny,  claiming  that  sixty  thousand 
dollars  were  owing  him,  as  administrator  of  the  estate  of  the 
late  John  Wallingford.  The  latter,  it  appeared,  had  been 
dead  for  eight  months.  Daggett  was  determined  to  get  hold  of 
all  Miles's  personal  estate,  by  fair  means  or  foul. 

Miles  was  put  in  the  debtors'  prison,  and  received  a  letter 
from  Rupert  containing  the  munificent  gift  of  twenty  dollars — 
in  return  for  the  estate  of  twenty  thousand  dollars  which  he  had 
relinquished  to  the  mercenary  young  man  at  Grace's  death. 
To  the  prison  came  Lucy  and  her  father,  and  the  latter  under- 
took to  arrange  for  bail  and  to  consult  John  Wallingford 's 
lawyer.  Not  only  was  Miles  promptly  bailed  out  but  he  found 
that  John  Wallingford's  will,  in  the  lawyer's  possession,  made 
him  the  heir  to  the  entire  estate,  valued  at  as  much  as  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars  over  and  above  the  Clawbonny 
property.     Andrew  Drewett,  coming  to  the  prison  to  offer  his 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  363 

services  as  to  the  bail,  performed  a  greater  service  by  assuring 
Miles  that  Lucy  Hardinge  had  definitely  refused  him,  and  that 
he  believed  she  would  never  marry,  from  what  she  had  said 
immediately  after  Miles' s  death  had  been  reported.  Miles 
went  straight  to  Lucy's  house,  and  it  did  not  take  long  for  them 
to  understand  each  other.  Her  father  gladly  welcomed  Miles 
as  his  future  son;  and,  Mr.  Daggett  having  owned  himself  com- 
pletely routed,  there  was  no  further  obstacle  to  the  wedding 
except  the  business  connected  wdth  accepting  the  inheritance. 
Marble  wTOte  Miles  that  the  missing  receipt  had  been  found, 
and  Van  Tassel  had  been  made  to  disgorge;  so  that  account 
was  settled,  except  for  the  thrashing  which  Marble  proposed 
to  administer  to  the  old  usurer  some  day. 

At  last  the  wedding  took  place.  Lucy,  who  had  a  suspicion 
that  her  brother  was  living  beyond  his  means  (her  father  thought 
Rupert  gambled,  and  Rupert  gave  people  to  understand  that 
his  wife  had  brought  him  money  to  add  to  theBradfort  inherit- 
ance), now  learned  the  truth  from  Miles.  She  had  intended  to 
share  the  Bradfort  inheritance  with  him;  but  finding  how  un- 
trustworthy and  extravagant  he  was,  she  decided  to  assign  him 
an  income  of  two  thousand  a  year  and  lend  him  the  Bradfort 
house  in  Westchester  for  a  home,  as  Grace's  money  must 
surely  come  to  an  end  soon.  She  loved  Clawbonny  too  well 
to  abandon  it  for  that  more  commodious  and  elegant  house. 
Accordingly  she  and  Miles  settled  at  Clawbonny,  where  they 
lived  in  patriarchal  fashion,  surrounded  by  the  servants,  slaves, 
and  the  neighbors  who  were  deeply  attached  to  them.  Mr. 
Hardinge  was  never  told  of  Rupert's  character  or  behavior. 


THE    CHAINBEARER;     OR,    THE    LITTLEPAGE 
MANUSCRIPTS  (1845) 

The  date  of  the  scenes  in  this  story,  the  fourth  instalment  of  the  Littlepage 
Man^^scripts,  is  immediately  after  the  War  of  the  Revolution,  in  which  most  of  the 
characters  had  taken  part.  The  account  purports  to  be  WTitten  by  Major 
Mordaunt  Littlepage,  son  of  Cornelius  Littlepage,  of  Satanstoe,  and  Anneke 
Mordaunt,  of  Lilacsbush.  The  scenes  are  laid  partly  on  the  family  estates 
in  Westchester,  and  partly  at  Ravensncst  and  Mooscridge,  northeast  of  Albany, 
in  what  is  now  Washington  County,  New  York.  Chainbearer,  the  title  to  the 
book,  is  derived  from  the  sobriquet  of  a  Dutch  surveyor  named  Andries  Coeje- 
mans  (Queemans),  who  had  been  a  captain  in  Cornelius  Littlepage's  regiment, 
and  un^er  whom  Mordaunt  Littlepage  had  served  as  ensign. 

JHE  Chainbearer  was  of  a  respectable  Dutch 
family  that  has  given  its  name  to  a  place  of  some 
little  note  on  the  Hudson  (Coeymans),  but,  as 
was  apt  to  be  the  case  in  the  good  old  time  of 
the  colony,  his  education  was  no  great  matter. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  be  a  surveyor;  but 
having  no  head  for  mathematics,  after  making 
one  or  two  notable  blunders  in  the  way  of  his 
profession,  had  quietly  sunk  to  the  station  of  a 
chainbearer,  in  which  capacity  he  was  well  known  to  all  of  his 
craft  in  the  colony,  and  in  which  he  had  an  unrivaled  reputa- 
tion. Humble  as  was  his  occupation,  it  required  honesty,  and 
neither  landlord  nor  tenant,  buyer  nor  seller,  need  be  uneasy 
about  being  fairly  dealt  by  so  long  as  Andries  Coejemans  held 
the  forward  end  of  the  chain.  He  had  acquired  great  skill,  too, 
in  all  subordinate  matters  connected  with  his  cahing:  he  was 
a  capital  woodsman,  a  good  hunter,  and  had  acquired  most  of 
the  habits  that  such  pursuits  would  be  hkely  to  give  a  man. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution  Andries,  like  most  of 
those  who  sympathized  with  the  colonies,  took  up  arms.  When 
my  father's  regiment  was  raised,  those  who  could  bring  recruits 
to   its  colors  received  commissions  of    a  rank   proportioned 

364 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  365 

to  services  in  this  respect.  Andries  presented  himself  early 
with  a  squad  of  chainbearers,  hunters,  trappers,  runners,  guides, 
etc.,  and  was  made  a  lieutenant,  and,  being  the  oldest  of  his 
rank  in  the  corps,  was  soon  promoted  to  a  captaincy.  He 
never  rose  any  higher. 

Andries  spoke  English  pretty  well,  but  was  decidedly 
Dutch  in  his  dialect.  The  fact  that  Washington  had  practised 
the  art  of  a  surveyor  for  a  short  time  in  his  youth  was  a  source 
of  great  exultation  to  him.  Once,  while  we  were  before  York- 
town,  Captain  Coejemans,  seeing  the  Commander-in-chief 
ride  past  our  encampment,  cried  out:  "T'ere,  Mortaunt,  my 
poy — t'ere  goes  his  Excellency!  It  would  be  t'e  happiest  tay 
of  my  life,  coult  I  only  carry  chain  while  he  survey't  a  pit  of  a 
farm  in  this  neighborhoot." 

I  was  six  years  at  Princeton ;  nominally,  if  not  in  fact,  and 
was  graduated  at  nineteen.  This  was  the  year  Comwallis 
surrendered,  and  I  served  at  the  siege  as  an  ensign  in  Captain 
Coejemans'  company.  I  formed  a  strong  attachment  for  the 
old  man,  who  was  every  hour  of  sixty-seven,  though  as  hale, 
hearty,  and  active  as  any  officer  in  the  corps;  and  when  we 
were  disbanded  at  the  peace,  I  actually  parted  from  him  with 
tears  in  my  eyes.  Andries  had  a  niece,  an  orphan,  the  only 
child  of  a  half-sister,  who  was  dependent  on  him.  But,  for- 
tunately, she  had  been  cared  for  by  a  friend  of  her  mother's, 
a  Mrs.  Stratton,  who  kept  a  school  and  who  had  the  means  and 
the  inclination  to  care  for  her.  The  death  of  this  lady  in  1783 
had  thrown  his  niece  again  on  his  protection.  Her  name,  as  he 
pronounced  it,  was  Dus  Malbone,  though  I  afterward  dis- 
covered that  Dus  was  a  Dutch  diminutive  for  Ursula.  Her 
father,  Robert  Malbone,  was  an  Eastern  man  of  good  family, 
but  a  spendthrift.  Both  he  and  his  wife  died  within  a  few 
months  of  each  other.  Dus  had  a  half-brother,  Frank,  Bob 
Malbone  having  married  twice,  but  he  was  in  the  army  and  his 
pay  scarcely  sufficed  to  meet  his  own  wants.  So  Dus  came  to 
live  with  the  old  chainbearcr,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he 
loved  her  better  than  any  other  being  on  earth. 

When  I  returned  home  after  a  two  years'  absence  in  the 
army,  I  found  my  mother  and  grandmother,  Aunt  Mary 
Wallace,  and  my  younger  sister  Ka,te,     My  older  sister  Anneke, 


366  THE   CHAINBEARER 

six  years  my  senior,  who  was  married  early  in  the  war,  was  Mrs. 
Kettletas,  who  resided  in  Dutchess  County.  My  mother's 
father,  Herman  IVTordaunt,  had  died  in  England  while  on  a 
visit  to  a  relative,  Sir  Harry  Bulstrode,  and  my  paternal  grand- 
father. General  Evans  Littlepage,  had  died  of  smallpox  con- 
tracted in  camp  at  the  close  of  the  war.  His  widow,  my  grand- 
mother, still  lived  at  Satanstoe,  having  resisted  all  attempts 
to  induce  her  to  come  to  Lilacsbush. 

One  May  morning  Kate  and  I  rode  over  to  Satanstoe  to 
see  my  grandmother  and  to  meet  at  dinner  some  of  the  Bayards, 
of  the  Hickories.  I  had  not  known  these  people,  for  my 
Grandfather  Mordaunt  had  had  some  legal  difficulties  with 
them,  and  I  had  regarded  them  as  a  sort  of  hereditary  strangers. 
But  on  our  ride  over  I  gathered  from  my  sister  that  the  two 
families  were  now  not  only  firm  friends,  but  that  there  was  a 
prospect  of  a  still  closer  relation,  Thomas,  or  Tom  Bayard,  as 
he  was  called,  being  desirous  to  marry  Kate,  who  was  alike 
desirous  to  have  my  opinion  of  the  young  man.  Close  ques- 
tioning elicited  also  the  fact  of  the  existence  of  a  Priscilla  or 
Pris  Bayard,  who,  I  discovered,  had  been  selected  as  a  proper 
wife  for  me. 

In  the  porch  of  the  house  at  Satanstoe  stood  my  dear  old 
grandmother  and  Tom  Bayard,  to  receive  us.  The  first 
glance  at  the  latter  told  me  he  was  a  "proper  man";  and  by 
the  second  I  got  the  pleasing  assurance  that  he  had  no  eye, 
just  then,  but  for  Kate.  There  was  a  slight  color  in  his  cheek 
which  said  to  me,  "I  mean  to  get  your  sister";  yet  I  liked  his 
manner. 

Miss  Priscilla  Bayard,  for  some  unexplained  reason,  did 
not  come  to  the  porch  to  greet  her  friend.  We  found  her  in  the 
drawing-room,  in  truth  a  charming  girl,  with  fine  dark  eyes, 
glossy  hair,  a  graceful  form,  and  an  ease  of  manner  that 
denoted  perfect  familiarity  with  the  best  company  in  the  land. 
Her  reception  of  me  was  gracious,  though  I  fancied  it  was  not 
entirely  free  from  the  consciousness  of  having  heard  her  own 
name  associated  with  mine.  This  wore  off,  however,  and  she 
soon  became  entirely  herself;  and  a  very  charming  self  it  was, 
I  was  forced  to  admit.  In  the  cool  of  the  evening  we  had  a 
pleasant  walk  on  the  Neck,  Priscilla  and  I  together,  of  course, 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  367 

and  I  also  saw  her  several  times  during  the  days  following, 
but  I  confess  I  was  never  more  at  a  loss  to  understand  a  char- 
acter than  I  was  that  of  this  young  woman.  It  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  say  I  remained  heart-whole  under  such  circum- 
stances, notwithstanding  the  obvious  wishes  of  my  friends  and 
the  young  lady's  great  advantages. 

When  my  grandmother  said  to  me,  "Mordaunt,  we  all  wish 
you  to  fall  in  love  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  to  marry  Priscilla 
Bayard  as  soon  as  she  will  consent  to  have  you,"  I  asked,  "Do 
you  not  think  one  connection  of  this  sort,  between  families, 
quite  enough?" 

She  looked  surprised  and  said:  "I  do  not  know  what  more 
you  can  wish  than  to  get  such  a  girl." 

A  httle  later,  when  Miss  Bayard  joined  us,  my  grandmother 
said:  "Mordaunt  is  about  to  quit  us  for  the  whole  summer, 
Miss  Bayard.  He  is  going  to  a  part  of  the  world  I  dread  to 
thmk  of." 

I  though  Miss  Bayard  looked  startled,  as  she  asked:  "Is 
Mr.  Litdepage  going  to  travel?" 

This  led  me  to  explain  about  our  property  at  Ravensnest 
and  Mooseridge,  whither  I  had  already  sent  the  Chainbearer 
to  have  the  surveys  made,  and  that  it  was  my  intention  to  go 
thither  as  soon  as  the  season  would  permit. 

Priscilla  appeared  interested,  and  I  thought  her  color 
increased  a  little  as  she  asked: 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  Chainbearer's  niece,  Dus  Mal- 
bone?" 

The  question  surprised  me,  for,  though  I  had  never  seen 
Ursula,  the  ujicle  had  talked  so  much  about  her  that  I  almost 
fancied  her  an  intimate  acquaintance. 

"Where,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  curious,  did  you  ever 
hear  of  such  a  person!"  I  exclaimed. 

"We  were  schoolfellows,"  she  explained,  "and  something 
even  more — we  were,  and  I  trust  still  are,  very  good  friends. 
I  like  Dus  exceedingly." 

"This  is  odd!  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  one  question? 
Curiosity  will  get  the  better  of  my  manners:  is  Dus  Malbone  a 
lady — the  equal  of  such  a  person  as  Miss  Priscilla  Bayard?" 

"  In  some  respects  she  is  greatly  the  superior  of  any  young 


368  THE    CHAINBEARER 

woman  I  know.  Her  family,  I  have  always  heard,  was  very 
good  on  both  sides;  she  is  poor,  poor  even  to  poverty,  I  fear, 
now.  Poor  Dus,  she  had  much  to  support,  in  the  way  of 
poverty,  even  while  at  school,  where  she  was  a  dependent.  I 
never  knew  a  nobler-minded  girl  than  Ursula  Malbone,  though 
few  persons  understand  her,  I  think." 

A  summons  to  breakfast  ended  our  conversation  and  no 
more  was  said  about  the  Chainbearer  and  his  marvelous  niece, 
Dus  Malbone. 

When  I  reached  Ravensnest  that  spring,  I  found  the  whole 
population  assembled  to  raise  the  frame  of  a  new  church  or 
meeting-house,  under  the  superintendence  of  the  agent,  Jason 
Newcome.  I  had  gone  thither  unannounced,  and  the  Chain- 
bearer  did  not  see  me  until  he  stepped  upon  the  frame.  As 
soon  as  he  spied  me  he  strode  across  the  timbers  with  the  step 
of  a  man  accustomed  to  tread  among  dangers,  though  he  was 
threescore  and  ten,  grasped  my  hand,  and  with  a  tear  twinkling 
in  his  eye,  exclaimed: 

"Mortaunt,  my  poy,  you're  heartily  welcome.  You  haf 
come  as  t'e  cat  steals  upon  t'e  mice." 

"Yes,  my  excellent  old  friend,  and  most  happy  am  I  to 
meet  you  again.  If  you  will  go  with  me  to  the  tavern,  we  can 
talk  more  at  our  ease." 

"Enough  for  t'e  present,  young  comrate.  Pusiness  is 
standing  still  for  t'e  want  of  my  hant.  Let  us  get  up  t'ese 
frame,  when  I  am  your  man  for  a  week  or  a  year." 

The  whole  assemblage  now  took  a  hand  in  the  raising  of  the 
heavy  frame,  under  the  command  of  a  boss,  who  watched  the 
process  and  gave  the  proper  commands.  "All  together  now 
— heave!"  he  shouted,  as  the  great  mass  gradually  rose  up. 
When  all  were  staggering  under  the  weight,  I,  who  was  near 
the  centre  of  the  frame,  noticed  that  a  stud  had  fallen  a  little 
to  one  side,  where  it  would  be  of  no  use.  The  boss  saw  it  at 
the  same  time  and  shouted,  like  one  in  agony,  "Heave,  men — 
for  your  lives,  heave!" 

At  this  critical  juncture,  a  young  woman  darted  out  of  the 
anxious  crowd,  seized  the  stud,  and  placed  it  in  its  proper 
position  alongside  of  the  post.  But  an  inch  was  wanted  to 
gain  its  support.     I  called  on  the  fainting  men  to  heave.     They 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  369 

obeyed,  and  I  saw  that  true-eyed,  firm-handed  girl  place  the 
prop  precisely  where  it  was  wanted. 

I  had  caught  only  a  glimpse  of  the  maiden  whose  intelligence, 
decision,  and  presence  of  mind  had  done  so  much  for  us  in  the 
risk  we  ran,  but  she  appeared  the  loveliest  being  of  her  sex 
I  had  ever  laid  eyes  on.  I  looked  for  her  as  soon  as  I  was 
disengaged,  but  the  lovely  vision  had  vanished  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  appeared. 

"Come,  Morty,  my  poy,"  said  Chainbearer,  as  soon  as  our 
help  was  no  longer  needed,  "I  will  take  you  to  a  roof  under 
which  you  will  pe  master." 

"You  do  not  mean  the  Nest?" 

"T'at,  and  no  ot'ter.  Frank  Malpone,  Dus,  and  I  have 
made  it  headquarters  since  we  haf  peen  here." 

"Come  on,  old  Andries.  We  will  walk  thither.  Jaap  and 
the  wagoner  can  follow  with  the  trunks.  WTiere  is  the  Indian 
you  used  to  call  Sureflint?" 

"He  has  gone  aheat,  to  let  your  visit  pe  known." 

We  walked  on  for  near  an  hour,  till  we  came  to  Ravensnest, 
a  large  log  cabin  built  for  defense,  with  no  opening  on  the  ex- 
terior except  the  door.  As  we  reached  the  gate  a  form  glided 
through  the  opening  and  Susquesus  or  Sureflint,  as  he  was 
sometimes  called,  stood  by  my  side.  I  had  hardly  greeted  him 
when  there  arose  within  the  strains  of  a  full,  rich,  female  voice, 
singing  Indian  words  to  a  familiar  melody.  In  the  magic  of 
that  voice  I  forgot  fields  and  orchards,  forgot  Chainbearer 
and  Sureflint,  and  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  extraordinary 
circumstance  of  a  native  girl's  possessing  such  a  knowledge  of 
our  music.  The  Indian  seemed  entranced,  but  old  Andries 
smiled,  and  when  the  last  strain  had  ended,  beckoned  me  to 
enter,  saying  simply,  "  Dus." 

"Dus!"  I  repeated  to  myself.  "This,  then,  is  Dus,  and  no 
Indian  girl;  Chainbearer's  Dus;  Priscilla  Bayard's  Dus. 
But  how  came  Dus — how  came  Miss  Ursula — your  niece,"  I 
asked  aloud,  "  to  understand  an  Indian  dialect  ?  " 

"She  is  a  perfect  mocking-pird — she  imitates  all  she  hears. 
Go  in,  Mortaunt,  and  shake  t'e  gal's  hand.  She  knows  you 
well  enough,  name  and  natur'." 

I  went  in  and  found  myself  in  the  presence  of  the  fair, 
A.D.,  VOL.  v.— 24 


370  THE  CHAINBEARER 

goldcn-haircd  girl  of  the  incident  at  the  raising.  On  my 
entrance  she  rose  and  gravely  answered  my  bow  with  a  pro- 
found courtesy. 

"T'is  wilt  never  do,"  said  Andries,  in  his  strongest  Dutch 
accent,  "t'is  wilt  never  do,  ast  petwecn  two  such  olt  frients. 
Come  hit'er,  Dus,  gal,  and  gif  your  hant  to  Mortaunt  Littlepage, 
who  is  a  sort  of  son  of  my  own." 

This  was  my  introduction  to  Dus  Malbone.  After  that  we 
saw  each  other  daily,  both  at  Ravensnest  and  at  Mooseridge, 
whither  I  followed  the  surveyors.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  I  soon 
learned  to  love  her?  In  the  few  weeks  that  we  had  been  to- 
gether Dus  had  wound  herself  around  my  heart  in  a  way  that 
defied  all  attempts  of  mine  to  extricate  it  even  had  I  the  wish 
to  do  so.  To  me  she  appeared  all  that  man  could  wish,  and  I 
saw  no  impediment  to  a  union  in  the  circumstances  of  her 
poverty.  Her  family  and  education  were  quite  equal  to  my 
own,  and  I  had  fortune  enough  for  both.  Guided  by  the  im- 
pulse of  a  generous  and  manly  passion,  one  evening  I  poured 
out  my  whole  soul  to  her.  I  could  see  that  she  was  strongly 
agitated;  but,  after  a  brief  pause,  she  gave  me  her  answer  in 
the  following  words,  uttered  with  a  tremor  and  sensibility  that 
gave  them  tenfold  weight. 

"For  this  unexpected,  and  I  beheve  sincere  declaration, 
Mr.  Littlepage,  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
But,  I  am  not  my  own  mistress — my  faith  is  plighted  to  an- 
other— my  affections  are  with  my  faith;  and  I  cannot  accept 
offers  which,  so  generous,  demand  the  most  explicit  reply —  " 

I  heard  no  more,  but  rushed  from  her  presence  and  plunged 
into  the  forest. 

For  the  first  half-hour  after  leaving  Ursula  I  was  unconscious 
whither  I  was  going  or  of  what  I  was  about.  I  thought  of 
nothing,  felt  for  nothing,  but  that  the  faith  of  Dus  was  plighted 
to  another.  At  last  I  threw  myself  on  a  fallen  tree  and  fell 
into  a  troubled  sleep.  When  I  awoke,  it  was  daylight.  At 
first  I  felt  stiff  and  sore,  but  this  soon  wore  off,  leaving  me 
refreshed  and  calm.  To  my  great  surprise,  I  found  that  a 
blanket  had  been  thrown  over  me,  and  as  this  could  only  have 
come  from  a  friendly  hand,  I  looked  around  to  see  who  this 
secret  friend  could  be.     The  mjstery  was  soon  explained.     A 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  371 

fine  spring  broke  out  of  the  hillside  not  far  away,  and  beside  it 
stood  the  Onandago  leaning  on  his  rifle  and  motionless  as  one 
of  the  trees  beside  him.     I  touched  him  before  he  looked  up. 

"Who  o\\'n  mill  here?"  he  asked. 

"There  is  no  mill  near  us,  Susquesus." 

"  Know  mill  when  hear  him.  Saw  talk  loud.  Hear  him  in 
night.     Ear  good  in  night." 

And  you  thought  you  heard  a  saw,  from  this  place,  in  the 
night  ?  " 

"Sartain — know  well — hear  plain  enough.  Out  here; 
find  him  dere." 

"I  will  go  in  search  of  it,  Sureflint,"  I  said,  "if  you  will  bear 
me  company." 

"Sartain.  Find  stream  first — den  find  mill.  Got  ear — 
got  eye — no  hard  to  find  him." 

We  soon  found  the  stream,  a  tributary  of  the  Hudson,  and 
saw  that  many  boards  were  floating  down  its  current.  The 
next  bend  in  the  river  brought  into  view  half  a  dozen  men  and 
lads  at  work  in  the  water,  and  on  the  margin  of  a  basin  under 
some  low  cliffs,  the  sawmill  itself.  Here  was  ocular  proof 
that  squatters  were  systematically  at  work,  plundering  the 
forests  of  their  most  valuable  trees,  and  setting  law  and  right 
at  defiance. 

We  watched  them  awhile,  keeping  ourselves  concealed. 

"Did  you  ever  see  any  of  these  men  before,  Susquesus?" 

"T'ink  have.  Despret  squatter,  dat  ole  man;  call  himself 
T'ousandacre — say  he  always  own  t'ousand  acre  when  he  want 
to  find  him." 

"But  this  is  not  his  property,  but  mine — or  rather,  that  of 
my  father  and  Colonel  Follock." 

"Best  not  say  so.  If  he  t'ink  you  spy,  p'raps  he  shoot 
you." 

"Well,  I  shall  run  the  risk,  for  I  am  hungry.  Stay  you 
here,  and  let  me  go  on  alone." 

Sureflint  was  not  to  be  dropped.  He  said  nothing,  but 
when  I  started  he  stepped  quietly  in  front  and  led  the  way  to 
the  party  of  squatters. 

" So  it's  you.  Trackless,"  exclaimed  old  Thousandacres.  "I 
didn't  know  but  it  might  be  a  sheriff.     Who's  your  friend  ? " 


37: 


THE   CHAINBEARER 


"Ole  young  frien' — know  his  fader.  Live  in  wood  now, 
like  us,  in  summer.     Shoot  deer." 

"He's  wilcome.  All's  wilcome  to  these  parts  but  the 
landlord.  Have  you  seen  anything  of  the  Chainbearer,  and 
his  lawless  surveyors,  in  the  woods  this  summer?  I  hear  he's 
at  his  old  tricks  ag'in." 

"Sartain.  He  measure  General  Littlepage  farm.  Who 
your  landlord,  eh?" 

"Waal,  I  s'pose  it's  this  same  Littlepage,  and  a  desp'rate 
rogue  all  agree  in  callin'  him." 

I  felt  a  strong  disposition  to  resent  this,  but  a  glance  from 
the  Indian's  eye  cautioned  me. 

"Waal,  breakfast  must  be  ready,  by  this  time.  Let's  go 
up  and  see  what  Miss  Thousandacres  can  do  for  us.  You,  and 
your  fri'nd  behind  you,  there,  is  wilcome  to  what  we  have,  sitch 
as  it  is." 

"Miss  Thousandacres"  was  a  sharp-featured,  keen,  gray- 
eyed  old  woman,  the  mother  of  fourteen  children,  of  whom 
twelve  survived.  She  had  an  anxious,  distrustful,  watchful 
air,  like  that  of  the  dam  that  is  overseeing  the  welfare  of  her 
cubs.  Her  welcome  to  her  board  was  neither  hearty  nor 
otherwise,  it  being  so  much  a  matter  of  course  for  the  American 
to  share  his  meal  with  the  stranger  that  little  Xvas  said  or  thought 
of  the  boon. 

After  the  meal  I  was  questioned  closely  by  the  old  man  in 
regard  to  my  name  and  antecedents.  I  at  first  told  him  my 
name  was  Mordaunt,  which  was  true,  but  this  did  not  satisfy 
him  and  at  the  suggestion  of  Zephaniah,  he  asked  for  my  given 
name.  I  then,  disdaining  deception,  acknowledged  my  identity. 
Thousandacres,  enraged,  cried  out:  "If  you  or  your  gin'ral 
father  think  that  Aaron  Thousandacres  is  a  man  to  have  his 
territories  invaded  by  the  inemy,  and  keep  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  the  hull  time,  he's  mistaken.  We'll  see  if  we  can't 
find  lodgin'  for  you  as  well  as  board." 

I  looked  round  for  Susquesus  and  his  rifle,  but  he  had 
disappeared.  I  stood  there,  alone  and  unarmed,  in  the  center 
of  six  athletic  men,  and  surrounded  by  the  whole  brood  of  the 
squatter,  young  and  old,  male  and  female,  some  looking  de- 
fiance, others  troubled,  and  all  anxious. 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  373 

Thousandacres  suddenly  demanded,  "What  has  become 
of  the  redskin?  Nathaniel,  Moses,  Daniel,  to  your  rifles  and 
on  the  trail.  Bring  him  in,  if  you  can,  with  a  hull  skin;  if 
you  can't,  an  Injin  more  or  less  won't  be  heeded  in  the  woods." 

The  result  of  the  conference,  in  which  all  participated,  w^as 
that  I  was  imprisoned  in  the  storehouse,  a  log  structure  with 
no  opening  but  the  door,  the  crevices  between  the  logs  being 
sufficient  for  air  and  light.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  the 
three  sons  returned  with  Susquesus,  who  was  shut  up  with  me. 
"This  is  a  sore  disappointment,"  I  said.  "I  was  sure  you 
would  let  Chainbearer  know  where  I  am." 

"WTiy  t'ink  different  now,  eh?  S'pose  no  want  to  come, 
no  come.     Trackless  moccasin  leave  no  trail." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  Susquesus.    Why  did  you  go  off  ?  " 

"Run  away  'cause  no  good  to  stay  here.  Go  about  two 
mile  in  wood — meet  Jaap — tell  him  whole  story  and  send  him 
back  to  huts.  Want  to  come  back  help  friend — so  get  took 
prisoner." 

The  next  morning  I  was  surprised  to  see  Chainbearer  enter 
the  settlement.  He  was  met  by  Thousandacres  and  the  two 
had  a  long  discussion,  ending  in  a  scuffle,  in  which  Chainbearer 
got  the  better  of  the  squatter  and  threw  him  so  heavily  as  to 
render  him  unconscious  for  a  time.  Chainbearer  was  working 
at  the  door  of  our  prison  with  the  object  of  releasing  us,  when 
he  was  seized  from  behind  and  thrust  in  to  keep  us  company. 

I  learned  from  him  that  as  soon  as  Jaap  had  brought  the 
news  of  my  incarceration,  Frank  Malbone  had  started  for 
Ravensnest  for  the  sheriff,  and  that  he  himself,  with  Jaap  and 
Dus,  had  come  to  my  aid.  Dus  had  remained  in  the  wood  in 
the  care  of  Jaap.  As  soon  as  Thousandacres  had  recovered 
himself  a  family  council  was  called  and  we  were  all  brought 
before  it.  Chainbearer  took  the  chief  part  in  the  discussion 
which  followed,  defending  the  title  of  the  owners  against 
Thousandacres's  claims  of  possession,  but  without  satisfying 
the  latter,  who  concluded  by  ordering  him  back  to  the  store- 
house. As  no  attention  seemed  to  be  paid  to  me,  I  quietly 
slipped  into  the  woods  and  went  to  where  I  understood  I  should 
find  Dus  and  Jaap. 

I  can  never  forget  the  look  with  which  the  frank,  noble- 


374  THE   CHAINBEARER 

hcarkHl  girl  met  me.  It  almost  led  me  to  hope  that  my  ears 
had  deceived  me  and  that  I  was,  after  all,  an  object  of  interest 
to  her. 

"Let  us  quit  this  spot  at  once,  dearest  Ursula,"  I  cried. 
"It  is  not  safe  for  you  to  remain  near  that  family  of  wretches." 

"And  leave  Uncle  Chainbcarer  in  their  hands?"  she  asked 
reproachfully. 

"If  your  safety  demands  it,  yes.  A  design  exists  among 
those  wretches  to  seize  you,  and  to  make  use  of  your  fears  to 
secure  the  aid  of  your  uncle  in  extricating  them  from  the  con- 
sequences of  this  discovery  of  their  robberies." 

"IN'^ordaunt  Littlepage,"  she  said  seriously,  "have  you 
forgotten  my  words  when  we  last  parted?  The  man  to  whom 
my  faith  is  plighted,  and  to  whom  my  time  and  services  are 
devoted,  so  long  as  one  or  both  of  us  live,  is  Uncle  Chainbearer, 
and  no  other.  If  you  had  not  rushed  from  me  in  the  manner 
you  did,  I  might  have  told  you  this,  Mordaunt." 

"  Dus! — Ursula! — beloved — have  I  then  no  preferred  rival  ?  " 

"No  man  has  ever  spoken  to  me  of  love  but  one  rude 
squatter  and  yourself." 

"Here  she  is!  Here  both  they  are,  father!"  was  a  cry  that 
aroused  us  from  our  Elysium;  and  in  a  moment  we  were  sur- 
rounded by  Thousandacres  and  his  sons. 

We  were  marched  back  to  the  clearing,  where  Dus  was 
given  in  charge  to  Tobit's  wife  and  I  was  returned  to  the  store- 
house, where  Chainbearer  and  Susquesus  still  were.  I  told  the 
old  man  of  my  interview  with  Dus  and  of  my  determination  to 
make  her  my  wife,  but  to  my  surprise  he  expressed  no  delight 
at  the  announcement. 

"Mortaunt— I  wish  to  Heafen  you  had  nefer  said  this! 
Nut'in  would  make  me  so  happy  as  to  see  you  t'e  huspant  of 
Dus,  supposin'  it  coult  come  to  pass,  ant  wrong  pe  tone  to  no 
one;  put  it  cannot  pe  so.  No — no — Mortaunt  Littlepage,  t'e 
owner  of  Ravensnest,  ant  t'e  heir  of  Mooseritge,  ant  of  Satans- 
tce,  ant  of  Lilacsbush,  is  not  a  suitaple  match  for  Dus  Malpone!" 

As  night  began  to  close  in,  Tobit  and  his  brethren  called 
Chainbearer  and  myself  to  come  forth,  leaving  Susquesus 
behind.  We  were  taken  to  the  house,  in  the  larger  room  of 
which    Thousandacres    had    determined    to    hold    his    court. 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  375 

Chairs  were  given  us  and  we  took  our  seats  in  the  midst  of  a 
grave  and  attentive  circle.  Thousandacres  opened  the  con- 
ference with  a  suggestion  of  peace. 

"It's  time  this  matter  atween  us,  Chainbearer,"  he  began, 
"should  be  brought  to  suthin'  like  an  eend.  It  keeps  the  b'ys 
from  lumberin',  and  upsets  my  'hull  family." 

Thousandacres  continued  in  a  moderate  tone,  expressing 
his  desire  for  some  sort  of  a  compromise,  to  which  Chainbearer 
replied  at  length,  rather  for  the  sake  of  gaining  time,  for  he 
hoped  for  the  arrival  of  Frank  Malbone  and  the  sheriff  to 
relieve  us  from  the  situation.  After  a  long  discussion  of  the 
rights  and  wrongs  of  the  case,  as  he  viewed  them,  Thousandacres 
at  last  made  a  definite  proposition  that  Chainbearer  should  give 
Dus  to  his  son  Zephaniah  in  marriage.  Neither  Chainbearer 
nor  Dus  at  first  understood  the  nature  of  the  squatter's  proposi- 
tion. But  when  the  old  man  realized  fully  what  was  meant,  he 
threw  his  arm  around  Dus,  and  said:  "May  God  forget  me, 
when  I  forget  the  tuty  I  owe  to  her.  She  shalt  never  marry  a 
squatter — she  shalt  nefer  marry  any  man  t'at  is  not  of  a  class, 
antfeelin's,  hapits,  ant  opinions,  fit  to  pe  t'e  huspant  of  a  laty!" 

While  a  shout  of  derision  went  up  from  that  rude  crew, 
Thousandacres  shouted: 

"Beware,  Chainbearer!  beware  how  you  aggravate  us; 
natur'  can't  and  won't  bear  everything." 

"I  want  nut'in  of  you  or  yours,  T'ousandacrcs,"  calmly 
replied  the  old  man.  "I'll  leaf  you  here,  in  your  misteets  and 
wicked  t'oughts.     Stant  asite,  for  I'll  stay  wit'  you  no  longer." 

Thousandacres  roared  like  a  maddened  bull,  and  became 
hoarse  with  menaces  as  Chainbearer,  his  arm  around  Dus, 
moved  toward  the  open  door.  The  crowd  made  way  for  him 
and  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  he  would  prevail,  when  a 
rifle  flashed  and  Chainbearer  fell.  A  profound  stillness  pre- 
vailed. No  one  spoke;  no  one  attempted  to  quit  the  place; 
no  one  moved.     It  was  never  known  who  fired  that  shot. 

Late  that  night,  when  Dus  and  I  were  watching  beside 
Chainbearer,  and  Thousandacres  was  sitting  beside  the  fire, 
loud  shouts  arose  without  and  the  reports  of  several  rifles  were 
heard.  A  man  came  rushing  in.  "God  be  praised!  you  at 
least  are  safe,"  cried  Frank  Malbone.     "But  my  dear  sister?" 


376  THE   CHAINBEARER 

"Is  unharmed,  watching  beside  her  uncle's  dying  bed.  Is 
anyone  hurt  without?" 

"That's  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  The  squatters  took  to 
flight.     We  have  a  posse  of  near  thirty  men." 

Just  then  we  were  startled  by  a  heavy  groan.  We  turned 
instinctively  to  the  chimney,  where  Thousandacres  was  still 
sitting.  But  his  form  had  sunk  lower  in  his  chair,  and  his  chin 
hung  upon  his  breast.  He  had  been  shot  through  the  body, 
three  inches  above  the  hips. 

But  little  more  remains  to  be  told.  We  gave  Thousandacres 
a  decent  burial,  and  I  permitted  his  widow  to  remove  all  the 
personal  property  on  the  place.  Chainbearer's  body  was  borne 
to  Ravensnest.  As  the  mournful  procession  drew  near,  a 
number  of  persons  came  out  to  meet  us,  and  I  recognized  among 
them  my  dear  parents,  Colonel  Follock,  my  sister  Kettletas, 
Aunt  Mary  Wallace,  Tom  and  Pris  Bayard,  and  lastly,  my 
dear  and  venerable  grandmother.  We  learned  afterward  that 
when  Frank  Malbone  went  back  for  help  he  had  despatched  a 
messenger  to  my  father  to  inform  him  of  my  peril.  Fortunately, 
the  whole  family  were  at  Fishkill  on  a  visit  and  had  immediately 
hastened  to  Ravensnest,  arriving  in  time  to  greet  us. 

All  my  family  were  more  than  pleased  to  receive  Dus  as  my 
affianced  wife  as  soon  as  they  knew  her,  excepting  my  grand- 
mother, who  insisted  that  I  ought  at  least  to  give  Priscilla 
Bayard  an  opportunity  to  refuse  me.  But  even  she  was  finally 
satisfied  that  my  offer  would  have  been  in  vain  when  she  heard 
that  Pris  had  been  engaged  all  the  time  to  Frank  Malbone. 


THE    REDSKINS;    OR,    INDIAN    AND    INJIN    (1846) 

This  is  a  story  of  the  anti-rent  troubles  in  New  York  State  in  1840-1847, 
growing  out  of  the  looseness  of  views  regarding  property  peculiar  to  the  semi- 
barbarous  conditions  of  a  new  settlement.  After  the  Revolution  a  large  propor- 
tion of  the  land  in  the  settled  parts  of  the  State  was  held  much  like  feudal 
manors  in  Europe,  the  cultivators  occupying  their  farms  on  leases,  for  one  or 
more  lives,  stipulating  for  the  payment  of  rents,  dues,  and  services,  as  in  similar 
tenures  in  England  and  Holland.  Associations  were  early  formed  to  get  rid  of 
these  burdens,  the  members  of  which  became  known  as  anti-renters,  who,  in  the 
disguise  of  Indians,  patrolled  the  country'  and  committed  many  outrages.  The 
scene  of  the  stor\'  is  on  the  estates  of  Ravensnest  and  Mooseridge,  in  what  is 
now  Washington  County.  The  writer  is  supposed  to  be  Hugh  Roger  Little- 
page,  grandson  of  Mordaunt  Littlepage. 

>Y  uncle  Ro  and  I  had  long  been  traveling  in 
the  East,  having  been  absent  from  home  fully 
five  vears  when  we  reached  Paris.  For  eighteen 
months  neither  of  us  had  had  a  line  from  America, 
and  our  interest  may  be  imagined  when  we  sat 
down  to  examine  our  mail,  consisting  of  several 
hundred  newspapers  and  quite  a  hundred  letters. 
Hugh  Roger  Littlepage,  my  uncle,  born  in 
1786,  was  the  second  son  of  my  grandfather, 
Mordaunt  Littlepage,  and  of  Ursula  Malbone,  his  wife.  My 
own  father,  Malbone  Littlepage,  was  the  eldest  child  of  that 
connection;  and  he  w-ould  have  inherited  the  property  of 
Ravensnest,  in  virtue  of  his  birthright,  had  he  survived  his 
parents;  but,  as  he  died  young,  I  succeeded  him  in  my 
eighteenth  year.  My  uncle,  whose  name  was  the  same  as  my 
own,  was  called  Roger,  Ro,  or  Hodge,  as  circumstances  rendered 
the  associations  sentimental,  affectionate,  or  manly,  while  I 
was  always  called  Hugh.  He  owned  both  Satanstoe  and 
Lilacsbush.  When  I  left  college  at  twenty  he  proposed  that 
I  should  fini.sh  my  education  by  traveling,  and  we  had  left 
America  just  after  the  ])anic  of  1836-37,  when  our  property 
was  in  tolerable  securily  and  our  stocks  safe, 

377 


378  THE   REDSKINS 

Our  letters  brought  no  ill  news  from  the  family,  but  advices 
from  Dunning,  our  agent  in  New  York,  were  anything  but 
satisfactory.  The  anti-rent  troubles,  which  wc  supposed  had 
been  suppressed  by  Governor  Jay,  had  broken  out  afresh,  and 
bodies  of  men,  clad  in  mock-Indian  dress,  calico  shirts  thrown 
over  their  other  clothes  and  calico  masks  on  their  faces,  had 
resisted  the  bailiffs'  processes  and  prevented  the  collection  of 
rents.  These  men  were  armed  mostly  with  rifles,  which  in 
several  cases  they  had  not  hesitated  to  use.  The  legislature  did 
nothing  until  blood  had  actually  been  spilled,  when  a  law  was 
passed  making  it  a  felony  to  appear  armed  and  disguised.  But 
Dunning  informed  us  that  this  law  was  openly  disregarded  in 
some  counties,  and  that  bodies  of  "Injins,"  in  full  costume  and 
armed,  numbering  as  many  as  a  thousand  men,  had  endeavored 
to  prevent  levies  or  sales.  The  contagion  had  spread  to  our  own 
county,  and  many  of  the  tenants  of  Ravensnest  had  joined  the 
association  and  were  getting  to  be  as  bad  as  any  of  the  rest  of 
them,  though  they  still  paid  their  rents.  The  latter  circum- 
stance was  ascribed  by  our  agent  to  the  fact  that  many  leases 
were  about  to  fall  in,  and  it  would  be  in  my  power  to  substitute 
more  honest  and  better  disposed  successors  for  the  present 
occupants. 

My  uncle  and  I  at  once  decided  to  return,  and  we  took 
measures  to  quit  Paris,  so  as  to  reach  home  late  in  May.  Uncle 
Ro  had  letters  also  from  his  two  wards,  the  Misses  Henrietta 
Coldbrooke  and  Anne  Marston.  Both  were  heiresses,  and  my 
uncle,  as  guardian,  had  done  his  best  to  get  me  interested  in  one 
or  the  other.  I  had  also  received  matrimonial  advances  on 
the  part  of  Miss  Opportunity  Newcome,  daughter  of  Ovid,  son 
of  Jason  Newcome,  the  first  of  the  name  at  Ravensnest.  Op- 
portunity had  a  brother,  Seneca  or  Seneky,  as  he  himself  pro- 
nounced it,  a  lawyer. 

Both  of  us  deemed  it  best  to  keep  our  return  a  secret,  so  we 
shipped  at  Havre  incognito.  A  fellow  passenger,  an  int'clligent 
New  Yorker,  gave  us  even  more  information  concerning  the 
situation  at  home  than  we  had  gathered  from  our  letters,  and 
assured  us  that  it  was  dangerous,  in  many  cases,  for  landlords 
to  be  seen  on  their  estates,  as  they  were  liable  to  insult,  personal 
degradation,  and  even  death. 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  379 

While  it  was  all-important  for  us  to  \isit  Ravensnest  in 
person,  it  might  therefore  be  hazardous  to  do  so  openly.  For- 
tunately, our  return  was  not  expected  until  autumn.  Each  of 
us  had  a  town  house,  but  it  was  decided  that  neither  would  go 
near  his  dwelling;  so  we  looked  up  Jack  Dunning,  who  had  a 
bachelor  establishment  in  Chambers  Street. 

Dunning' s  surprise  was  great  when  we  presented  ourselves 
before  him  in  his  library.  He  listened  attentively  when  my 
uncle  explained  our  intention  of  visiting  Ravensnest  incognito, 
but  seemed  uncertain  Vvhether  to  dissent  or  approve,  so  the 
matter  was  postponed  for  further  consideration. 

"What  of  the  girls.  Jack,  and  my  honored  mother?"  asked 
Uncle  Ro. 

"She — noble,  heroic  woman! — she  is  at  Ravensnest  at  this 
moment,  and  the  girls  are  all  with  her." 

"And  you  permitted  them  to  go  unattended  into  a  part  of 
the  country  in  open  rebellion?" 

"Come,  come!  Hodge  Littlepage,  this  is  sublime  as  a 
theory,  but  not  so  clear  when  reduced  to  practise.  I  did  not 
go  with  them  for  the  very  good  reason  that  I  did  not  wish  to  be 
tarred  and  feathered." 

"  So  you  leave  them  to  rim  the  risk  in  your  stead  ?  " 

"Say  what  you  will,  Ro,  about  the  cant  of  freedom  and  of 
American  knavery,  covetousness,  and  selfishness,  but  do  not 
say  that  a  woman  can  be  in  serious  danger  among  any  body  of 
Americans,  even  if  they  are  anti-renters  and  mock-redskins 
into  the  bargain." 

"I  believe  you  are  right.  Jack.  Pardon  my  warmth;  but 
I  have  been  living  lately  in  the  Old  World,  where  women  not 
long  since  were  sent  to  the  scaffold  on  account  of  their  politics." 

"  Your  mother  is  in  no  serious  danger,  though  it  needs  nerve 
in  a  woman  to  be  able  to  think  so.  She  would  brave  the  anti- 
renters,  and  the  three  girls.  Miss  Coldbrooke,  Miss  Marston, 
and  your  niece,  Martha  Littlepage,  are  with  her.  I  have  had 
three  letters  from  her  since  she  went  up." 

"Did  she  mention  the  Indian  and  the  negro?" 

"Jaaf  and  Susquesus?  Yes — both  are  living  and  both  are 
well.  The  Indian  is  highly  scandalized  at  the  miserable  imita- 
tions of  his  race  now  abroad." 


38o  THE   REDSKINS 

"How  is  Opportunity?"  I  inquired.  "Does  she  take  any 
part  in  this  movement?" 

"A  decided  one,  I  hear.  She  is  anti-rent,  but  wishes  to 
keep  on  good  terms  with  her  landlord — trying  to  serve  God 
and  Mammon." 

"The  modem  Seneca  is  of  course  against  us?" 

"Seneky  wishes  to  go  to  the  legislature,  and  is  of  course  on 
the  side  of  the  voters." 

"Well,  let  us  now  talk  of  our  visit  thither,  for  I  am  deter- 
mined to  go  up  there  and  see  for  myself." 

"Take  care  of  the  tar-barrel  and  the  pillow-case  of  feathers, 
Roger!" 

The  result  was  that  we  fitted  ourselves  with  wigs  and  suit- 
able clothing  and  set  out  for  Ravensnest  disguised  as  Germans, 
my  uncle  with  a  box  of  cheap  watches  and  gilded  trinkets  and 
I  in  the  character  of  a  music-grinder.  We  evaded  the  felony 
law  by  carrying  no  weapons. 

I  made  my  first  essay  as  a  musician  in  public  under  the 
windows  of  the  principal  inn  in  Troy.  Among  the  curious 
who  looked  out  were  two  whom  I  took  to  be  father  and  daughter. 
The  man,  who  was  in  the  garb  of  a  Church  clergyman,  beckoned 
me  to  come  nearer  and  invited  me  in. 

"Walk  in,  young  man,"  he  said  in  a  benevolent 
tone,  "I  am  curious  to  see  that  instrument.  What  do  you 
call  it?" 

"  Hurty-gurty,"  I  answered. 

"From  what  part  of  the  world  do  you  come,  my  young 
friend?" 

"  Vrom  Charmany ;  vrom  Preussen,  vere  did  reign  so  late  de 
goot  Koenig  Wilhelm." 

"  What  docs  he  say,  Molly  ?  " 

So  the  pretty  creature  beside  him  bore  the  name  of  Mary. 
I  liked  the  Molly — it  sounded  as  if  these  good  people  had  the 
aplomb  of  position  and  conscious  breeding.  She  explained, 
calling  him  father — which  sounded  refreshing  too. 

"And  this  is  a  hurdy-gurdy?"  continued  the  clergyman. 
"  What  have  we  here — the  name  spelled  on  it?" 

"Dat  ish  de  maker's  name — Hochstiel  jecit.''^ 

'' Fecit r  repeated  he.     "Is  that  German?" 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  381 

"Nein — dat  ish  Latin:  facio,  feci,  factum,  jacere — jeci, 
fecisii,  fecit.     It  means  'made,'  as  I  suppose  you  know." 

The  parson  looked  at  me,  and  at  my  dress  and  figure  with 
open  surprise,  and  smiled  as  his  eye  glanced  at  his  daughter. 
Mary  shrank  back  a  little;  a  blush  succeeded,  but  the  glance 
of  the  soft  blue  eye  that  followed  seemed  to  set  all  at  rest  as  she 
leaned  on  her  father's  arm. 

"You  understand  Latin,  then?"  he  asked,  examining  me 
over  his  spectacles  from  head  to  foot. 

"In  my  coontry,  efery  man  is  obliget  to  be  a  soldier,  and 
them  t'at  knows  Latin  can  be  made  sergeants  and  corporals." 

"Is  Latin  much  understood  among  you?" 

"In  Charmany  it  ish  not  so.  We  all  lamts  somet'ing,  but 
not  eferyt'ing." 

"In  this  country  it  is  not  usual  to  find  persons  of  your  con- 
dition who  understand  the  dead  languages." 

"It  isht  my  condition  dat  misleats  you,  sir.  Mine  vater 
wast  a  shentlcmans,  and  he  gifet  me  a  goot  etication." 

"Have  you  any  knowledge  of  Greek?" 

"Certainly;   Greek  ist  moch  study  in  Charmany." 

"And  the  modern  languages — do  you  understand  any  of 
them?" 

"  Yah,  I  speak  the  five  great  tongues  of  Europe — French, 
German,  Spanish,  Italian." 

"These  make  but  four,"  said  Mary. 

"De  yoong  laty  forgets  de  Englisch,"  I  replied,  smiling. 

"Oh!  yes,  English!"  she  exclaimed,  pressing  her  lips  to- 
gether to  prevent  laughing  in  my  face. 

"I  feel  an  interest  in  you  as  a  stranger,"  said  the  father, 
"and  am  sorry  we  have  to  part  so  soon.  Which  way  do  you 
go  from  here,  my  young  friend  ?  " 

"I  go  to  a  place  called  Rafensnest." 

"  Ravcnsnest ! "  exclaimed  both  father  and  daughter.  "  Why 
that  is  where  I  live.  I  am  the  Protestant  Episcopal  clergyman 
there." 

This  then  was  the  Rev.  Mr.  Warren,  rector  of  St.  Andrews, 
a  man  whom  I  knew  to  be  of  excellent  connections,  and  some 
education,  but  of  no  fortune  whatever.  As  a  preacher  his 
success  had  not  been  great,  but  for  the  discharge  of  his  duties 


->» 


382  THE   REDSKINS 

no  man  stood  higher  or  more  respected.  My  letters  had  told 
me  that  Mr.  Warren  was  a  widower  and  that  Mary  was  his  only 
child.  She  was  described  as  a  sweet-tempered,  modest,  sensible, 
and  well-bred  girl,  who  had  received,  through  the  liberality 
of  a  widowed  sister  of  her  mother's,  a  far  better  education  than 
her  father's  means  would  have  permitted  him  to  bestow.  She 
was  a  most  charming  neighbor  and  her  presence  at  Ravensnest 
had  made  my  sister  Martha's  annual  visits  thither  actually 
pleasant.  Indeed,  I  think  Pattie,  or  Patt  as  we  usually 
called  her,  loved  Mary  Warren  better  than  any  of  her  uncle's 
wards. 

We  were  in  the  public  parlor  of  the  inn,  and  who  should 
come  in  but  Opportunity  Newcome.  I  recognized  her  at  once 
and  trembled  for  my  disguise,  for  Opportunity  had  once  made 
a  dead  set  for  me  and  knew  my  features  well.  But  after  a 
glance  at  me,  she  tossed  her  head,  seated  herself,  and  opened 
her  budget  of  news  without  any  regard  to  my  presence. 

"Sen  is  enough  to  wear  out  anybody's  patience.  We  have 
to  quit  Troy  in  half  an  hour,  and  I  ought  to  make  several  visits, 
but  I  can't  get  him  near  me.  I  declare,  Mr.  Warren,  I  believe 
Seneky  will  go  crazy  unless  the  anti-renters  soon  get  the  best  of 
it;  he  does  nothing  but  think  and  talk  of  rents  and  aristocracy 
from  morning  till  night." 

"Your  brother  is  then  occupied  with  a  matter  of  the  last 
importance  to  the  community,"  said  the  clergyman  gravely. 

"I  wonder,  now!"  exclaimed  Opportunity.  "I'm  surprised 
to  hear  you  say  this,  Mr.  Warren,  for  generally  you're  thought 
to  be  unfavorable  to  the  movement.  Sen  says  he  believes  the 
tenants  will  get  their  lands  throughout  the  State  before  they've 
done  with  it.  He  tells  me  we  shall  have  Injins  enough  at 
Ravensnest  this  summer.  The  visit  of  old  Mrs.  Littlepage 
has  raised  a  spirit  that  will  not  easily  be  put  down,  he  says." 

"Why  should  the  visit  of  Mrs.  Littlepage  to  the  house  of 
her  grandson  raise  a  spirit,  as  you  call  it,  in  anyone?" 

"Oh!  we  all  know  how  you  Episcopals  feel  about  such 
matters.  But,  for  my  part,  I  don't  think  the  Littlepages  are  a 
bit  better  than  the  Newcomes.  I  don't  think  they  are  any 
better  than  you,  yourself;  why,  then,  should  they  ask  so  much 
more  of  the  law  than  other  folks?" 


JAMES   FENIMORE  COOPER  383 

"I  am  not  aware  that  they  do,"  repHed  Mr.  Warren;  "and 
if  they  do,  I'm  sure  they  obtain  less." 

"Sen  says  he  can't  see  why  he  should  pay  rent  to  a  Little- 
page,  any  more  than  a  Littlepage  should  pay  rent  to  him." 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,  since  there  is  a  very  sufficient 
reason  for  the  former,  and  no  reason  at  all  for  the  latter." 

"But  what  reason  is  there  that  these  Littlepages  should  go 
on  from  father  to  son,  from  generation  to  generation,  as  our 
landlords,  when  we're  just  as  good  as  they?  It's  been  so,  now, 
hard  upon  eighty  years — for  three  generations  among  us." 

"High  time,  therefore,  Opportunity,  for  a  change,"  said 
Mary,  with  a  demure  smile. 

"Oh!  you're  so  intimate  with  Marthy  Littlepage,  I'm  not 
surprised  at  anything  you  think  or  say." 

The  entrance  of  Seneca  Newcome  gave  a  new  turn  to  the 
discourse.  Opportunity  upbraided  him  for  not  coming  sooner, 
but  he  took  it  in  good  part,  for  he  was  in  high  good-humor. 

"Something  has  happened  to  please  me,"  he  answered,  to 
Opportunity's  inquiring  look,  "and  I'd  as  lief  Mr.  Warren 
should  know  what  it  is  as  not.  Things  go  ahead  finely  among 
us  anti-renters,  and  we  shall  carry  all  our  p'ints,  before  long. 
We're  gaining  strength  among  the  politicians.  Ah !  yonder  is 
the  traveling  jeweler  I  fell  in  with  this  morning.  Walk  in,  Mr. 
Dafidson,  since  that  is  your  name.  Come  in,  and  open  your 
box.     My  sister  may  fancy  some  of  your  trinkets." 

My  uncle  entered  and  placed  his  box  on  a  table  near  which 
I  was  standing,  the  whole  party  immediately  gathering  around. 

We  thus  made  the  acquaintance  early  of  several  of  those 
most  interested  in  the  matters  I  have  to  relate.  We  all  traveled 
together  on  the  train  to  Saratoga,  where  Mr.  Warren  and  his 
friends  found  conveyances,  with  their  own  horses,  to  take  them 
to  Ravensnest,  whither  we  promised  to  follow  in  a  few  ways. 

"Well,"  said  my  uncle,  after  he  had  parted  from  them,  "I 
must  say  one  thing  in  behalf  of  Mr.  Sencky.  "  I  believe  him  to 
be  one  of  the  biggest  scoundrels  the  State  holds.  Why,  Hugh, 
the  villain  actually  proposed  that  you  and  I  should  enlist,  and 
turn  ourselves  into  rascally  mock -redskins." 

The  next  day  found  us  at  Ravensnest,  and  as  soon  as  we 
could  we  sought  the  cabin  where  Susqucsus  and  Jaap  or  Yop 


384  THE   REDSKINS 

lived,  in  hope  of  getting  news  of  the  family.  The  two  old 
fellows  were  sunning  themselves  on  a  bench  outside. 

"Sago — sago,"  said  my  uncle,  drawing  near.  "Dis  charm- 
in'  mornin';  in  my  tongue,  guten  lag.^' 

"Sago,"  returned  Trackless,  in  his  deep,  guttural  voice, 
while  old  Yop  looked  at  each  of  us  in  turn,  but  said  nothing. 
After  a  long  talk,  in  w^hich  we  gathered  the  news  we  wanted,  I 
began  to  play  a  lively  tune  on  my  hurdy-gurdy.  Susquesus 
looked  on  with  a  shade  of  contempt  on  his  dark  features,  but 
the  negro  showed  his  delight  by  a  spasmodic  twitching  of  his 
limbs,  as  if  he  would  like  to  dance.  While  I  was  playing  a 
carriage  came  along  and  stopped  within  ten  feet  of  us.  My 
heart  went  into  my  mouth,  for  I  recognized  in  it  my  grand- 
mother, my  sister,  my  uncle's  two  other  wards,  and  Mary 
Warren. 

"There  are  the  two  pedlers  I  told  you  about,"  said  Miss 
Warren. 

"Good  morrow,  Susquesus,"  said  my  grandmother.  "I 
hope  this  fine  day  agrees  with  you.     Good  morrow,  Jaaf." 

"Sago,"  returned  the  Indian,  without  rising.  "Weadder 
good — Great  Spirit  good.     How  squaws  do?" 

But  old  Jaap  or  Jaaf  rose  tottering  and  making  a  low 
obeisance,  said: 

"T'ank'ee,  Miss  Dus.  Pretty  well  to-day;  but  ole  Sus, 
he  fail,  grow  ol'e  an'  ol'er  desp'ate  fast." 

"What  friends  have  you  with  you,  Jaaf?"  inquired  my 
grandmother,  inclining  her  head  to  us  graciously,  a  salutation 
that  we  rose  to  acknowledge. 

"Dese  be  pedler,  ma'am.  Dey's  got  box  wid  somet'in  in 
him,  an'  a  new  kind  ob  fiddle.  Gib  Miss  Dus  a  tune — a 
libely  one." 

"Oh!  not  that  thmg;  the  flute!"  cried  Mary  Warren,  as  I 
was  about  to  take  up  the  hurdy-gurdy. 

I  bowed  respectfully  and  began  playing  the  newest  airs  from 
a  favorite  opera.  My  grandmother  listened  with  profound 
attention  and  the  girls  appeared  enchanted.  When  I  had 
finished  my  grandmother  leaned  forward  and  extended  her 
hand  to  me.  I  received  the  dollar  offered  and,  unable  to  com- 
mand my  feehngs,  raised  the  hand  to  my  lips.     I  saw  a  flush 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  385 

in  my  grandmother's  cheek,  as  the  carriage  moved  o£f.  My 
uncle  had  turned  away  with  eld  Jaaf,  probably  to  conceal  the 
tears  that  came  into  his  eyes,  and  I  was  alone  with  the  Indian. 

"WTiy  no  kiss  face  of  grandmodder  ?  "  asked  the  Onondago, 
coolly  and  quietly. 

I  could  not  have  been  more  astonished  if  it  had  been  a 
clap  of  thunder.  The  disguise  that  had  deceived  my  nearest 
relations  and  that  had  baffled  Seneca  Newcome,  had  failed  with 
this  aged  Indian, 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  know  me,  Susquesus?"  I  asked, 
making  a  sign  of  caution  toward  the  negro. 

"Sartain,"  answered  he  calmly,  "know  as  soon  as  see  him. 
What  eyes  good  for  if  don't  know  ?  " 

"But  you  will  not  tell  others,  Susquesus.  My  uncle  and 
I  must  not  be  known  for  a  few  days.  You  will  keep  our 
secret — ^not  even  let  Jaaf  know?" 

The  Trackless  simply  nodded  his  head  in  assent,  and  we 
took  our  leave  of  the  two,  promising  to  come  soon  again. 

I  must  pass  over  rapidly  the  events  of  the  next  few  days, 
during  which  we  visited  the  village,  attended  anti-rent  meetings, 
went  among  the  disguised  "Injins,"  and  learned  their  secrets. 
At  last  we  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  let  the  family  and  the 
Warrens  into  our  secret.  One  day  when  we  were  returning 
from  a  meeting  in  the  village  we  were  followed  by  about  twenty 
armed  men,  and  we  fully  expected  to  be  stopped  on  the  road; 
but  as  we  neared  a  cross-road  we  saw  coming  along  it,  walking 
in  Indian  file,  a  party  of  sixteen  or  eighteen  real  red  men, 
accompanied  by  a  white  man  as  interpreter.  We  had  been 
talking  with  one  Holmes,  an  anti-renter,  and  when  he  saw  the 
party  approaching,  he  exclaimed,  "What,  is  the  Governor 
sending  out  ra-al  Injins  agin  us,  in  order  to  favor  the  landlords? 
There  can  be  no  harm  in  asking.  Sago !  where  do  you  red 
men  come  from,  an'  where  can  ye  be  goin'  ?  " 

"Come  from  setting  sun — been  to  see  Great  Father  at 
Washington — go  home.  Come  here  to  find  red  man.  Ole  now, 
like  top  of  dead  hemlock." 

"By  George,  Hugh,"  whispered  my  uncle.     "They  are  in 
search    of    old    Susquesus."     Then,    entirely    forgetting    his 
assumed  character  in  his  astonishment,  he  said  hastily: 
A.D.,  VOL.  v. — 25 


86  THE   REDSKINS 


"I  can  help  you.  You  are  looking  for  a  warrior  of  the 
Onondagoes;  his  name  is  Susquesus." 

"And  who  in  natur'  be  you?"  demanded  Holmes,  looking 
at  my  uncle  in  astonishment. 

"You  shall  know  who  I  am,"  answered  Uncle  Ro,  taking 
off  his  wig,  an  action  I  at  once  imitated.  "I  am  Roger  Little- 
page,  the  late  trustee  of  this  estate;  and  this  is  Hugh  Littlepage, 
its  owner." 

Holmes  was  confounded.  He  looked  at  my  uncle  and  then 
at  me,  but  said  nothing.  The  Indians  uttered  a  common 
"Hugh!"  as  they  saw  two  men  thus  scalp  themselves. 

While  Holmes  set  out  to  join  the  sham  Injins  in  the 
rear,  the  interpreter,  after  inquiring  who  we  were,  informed 
us  that  the  Indians  knew  all  about  us  and  about  our  fore- 
fathers, as  well  as  our  kindness  in  providing  the  Withered 
Hemlock  with  a  wigwam  and  keeping  it  supplied  with  food 
and  fuel. 

We  invited  the  Indians  to  return  home  with  us,  and  gave 
them  comfortable  quarters  in  the  old  farmhouse.  It  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  say  that  the  two  pedlers  received  a  joyful  welcome 
at  Ravensnest  by  all  the  family,  including  Mary  Warren, 
who  was  staying  there. 

The  next  day  the  warriors  from  the  West  had  a  notable 
interview  with  Susquesus,  who,  informed  by  us  of  their  coming, 
had  dressed  in  full  Indian  costume,  with  all  his  ornaments  and 
medals — two  of  the  latter  from  George  II  and  George  III,  and 
two  from  the  republic.  The  chiefs  sat  long  in  silence  gazing 
upon  the  old  man,  smoking  the  pipe  of  peace,  and  then  each 
made  a  speech,  which  was  translated  for  our  benefit  by  Many- 
Tongues,  the  interpreter. 

That  night  my  uncle  and  I  spent  under  my  own  roof.  But 
I  felt  little  inclination  to  sleep;  the  day  had  been  full  of  excite- 
ment, and  I  sat  awhile  at  my  window,  after  all  had  gone  to  bed, 
looking  out  on  the  peaceful  scene.  Presently  I  saw  a  horse 
coming  up  the  path  and,  to  my  surprise,  a  woman  dismounted, 
secured  the  animal  under  a  tree,  and  came  rapidly  toward  the 
house.  I  went  on  tiptoe  down  to  the  door,  and  found  Mary 
Warren  there  before  me.  "Did  you  see  her?"  she  asked.  "It 
is  Opportunity  Newcome." 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  387 

I  let  her  in,  and  we  went  into  the  library,  where  I  lighted  a 
lamp, 

"This  has  been  a  dreadful  day,  Mr.  Hugh,"  she  began. 
"Who  could  have  thought  that  the  musician  was  yourself  and 
the  watch-pedler  Mr.  Roger." 

"It  was  a  foohsh  adventure,  perhaps;  but  it  has  let  us  into 
some  important  secrets." 

"That's  just  the  difficulty.  My  brothers  are  dreadfully 
worked  up  about  it.  They  say  it  was  ungenerous  for  you  to 
come  in  that  way  and  steal  their  secrets.  You  know  I  have 
always  been  your  friend,  and  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  some 
injury  will  be  attempted  this  night.  I  can't  tell  you  what  it 
is,  but  remember  that  a  teakettle  of  water,  if  used  soon  enough, 
would  have  put  out  the  last  great  fire  in  York." 

I  accompanied  Opportunity  out  to  her  horse,  thanked  her, 
and  squeezed  her  hand  at  parting,  telling  her  how  much  I  was 
indebted  to  her;  but  she  seemed  very  nervous  and  anxious  to 
get  away,  and,  striking  her  horse  a  smart  blow,  disappeared. 

I  went  at  once  to  the  quarters  of  my  red  guests  and  apprized 
them  of  the  situation.  They  promised  to  aid,  and  I  explained 
to  them  that  there  must  be  no  violence  and  that  arms  must  be 
used  only  in  the  last  extremity;  but  that  prisoners  might  be 
taken,  the  main  object  being  to  save  the  buildings.  In  five 
minutes  the  Indians  were  all  off  about  the  grounds,  principally 
in  pairs,  and  I  went  into  the  house,  got  my  rifle  and  pistol,  and 
put  out  my  light.  IVIary  Warren  appeared  again  as  I  was 
slipping  out.  I  hastily  explained  the  matter  to  her,  and  sug- 
gested that  she  should  pass  occasionally  from  window  to 
window,  and  if  she  discovered  anything  should  quietly  open  a 
leaf  of  her  shutter.  A  half-hour  later,  when  I  saw  this  signal 
given,  I  reentered  the  house  and  again  met  Mary  Warren. 

"Come  quickly,"  she  said,  "they  are  in  the  kitchen  and  are 
kindling  a  fire  on  the  floor." 

I  asked  her  to  run  to  the  beech-tree  and  get  Many-Tongues 
to  join  me,  but  she  said,  "No — no — you  must  not  go  to  the 
kitchen  alone.  There  are  two  of  them — I  will  accompany 
you." 

I  could  easily  have  shot  the  rascals  through  the  window, 
but  felt  averse  to  taking  human  life.     So  I  waited  for  them 


388  THE   REDSKINS 

to  come  out,  when  I  discharged  my  rifle  in  the  air,  then  clubbed 
it  and  felled  the  foremost  man  to  the  pavement,  and  grappled 
with  the  other.  The  fellow  was  the  stronger  and  would  have 
got  the  better  of  me  if  Mary  had  not  put  my  rifle  between  his 
bent  arms  and  his  back  and  used  it  as  a  lever.  This  relieved 
me  and  enabled  me  to  draw  my  pistol,  when  the  villain  begged 
me  not  to  shoot  him.  Just  then  a  stream  of  redskins  came  in, 
attracted  by  the  sound  of  my  rifle,  and  the  prisoners  were 
securely  bound.  The  fire  was  then  extinguished  and  the  house 
saved.  I  must  confess  that  I  was  surprised  and  shocked  to 
find  that  the  prisoners  were  Seneca  Newcome  and  Joshua 
Brigham,  the  latter  one  of  my  own  hired  men. 

There  is  little  more  to  be  told.  The  next  afternoon  our 
lawn  was  invaded  by  about  two  hundred  armed  and  disguised 
men,  whether  for  the  purpose  of  injuring  us  and  our  property 
or  of  rescuing  the  prisoners  we  did  not  know.  The  Indians, 
with  Susquesus  and  Jaap,  had  been  holding  a  meeting  under 
the  trees,  and  for  safety's  sake  we  asked  them  to  take  positions 
on  the  piazza  in  front  of  the  house,  while  the  two  prisoners 
were  brought  bound  into  the  library.  We  had  plenty  of  rifles 
in  the  house,  and  could  have  made  a  stout  resistance,  if  neces- 
sary. Just  as  we  had  made  these  arrangements,  the  sound  of 
a  galloping  horse  was  heard  and  Opportunity  Newcome  rode 
up  to  the  house.  Her  salutations  were  hasty  as  she  entered. 
She  glanced  around  and  seeing  the  condition  of  Seneca  said: 

"  Wliat  in  the  name  of  wonder  do  you  mean  to  do  with  Sen  ? 
You  are  standing  over  an  earthquake,  Mr.  Hugh,  if  you  did 
but  know  it." 

Aleanwhile  matters  had  reached  a  crisis  outside.  I  had 
made  a  speech  to  the  mob,  and  ordered  them  off  the  premises, 
but  they  were  sullen  and  began  to  advance  toward  the  house, 
brandishing  their  rifles  in  a  threatening  manner.  When  blood- 
shed seemed  inevitable,  we  were  all  surprised  by  the  appear- 
ance on  the  piazza  of  the  sheriff  of  the  county  accompanied  by 
Jack  Dunning  and  a  dozen  or  more  armed  men,  who  had  come 
up  the  cliff  path  and  entered  in  the  rear.  When  the  sheriff  called 
on  the  rioters  to  disperse,  they,  seeing  that  we  were  prepared 
for  them,  fell  back  in  confusion  and  shortly  went  down  the  road 
in  a  scampering  flight.     When  we   looked  for  our  prisoners 


JAMES  FENI^LORE  COOPER  389 

they  were  nowhere  to  be  found.  Opportunity,  who  had  ob- 
served the  entrance  of  Dunning  and  his  party  in  the  rear,  had 
unbound  them  and  pointed  out  the  same  avenue  of  escape. 
Seneca  and  his  companion  were  never  again  seen  in  our  part 
of  the  county,  and  so  no  charge  of  arson  was  made  against 
them. 

When,  some  weeks  later,  Mary  Warren  and  I  were  married 
in  St.  Andrew's  Church,  I  heard  that  Opportunity  Newcome 
had  talked  of  suing  me  for  breach  of  promise;  but  as  nothing 
came  of  it  I  doubt  the  story. 


THE  CRATER:  OR,  VULCAN'S  PEAK  (1847) 

"Thus  arise 
Races  of  living  things,  glorious  in  strength, 
And  perish,  as  the  quickening  breath  of  God 
Fills  them,  or  is  withdrawn." 

In  this  motto,  from  a  poem  by  William  Cullen  Bryant,  we  have  the  idea, 
and  possibly  the  suggestion,  of  this  story,  in  which  is  narrated  the  birth,  life, 
and  death  of  a  volcanic  island  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  The  exact  latitude  and 
longitude  of  this  island,  in  the  more  remote  solitudes  of  the  ocean,  is  not  given, 
and  its  name  will  be  sought  in  vain  in  the  charts  and  geographies.  The  date 
of  the  story  is  about  1793,  and  the  opening  scenes  are  laid  on  the  shores  of  the 
lower  Delaware. 


[ARK  WOOLSTON,  born  in  Bucks  County, 
Pennsylvania,  son  of  a  well-educated  physician, 
was  a  student  at  Nassau  Hall,  Princeton,  in  1793, 
when  he  first  saw  a  full-rigged  ship.  His  father 
yielded  to  his  importunities  to  permit  him  to  go 
to  sea,  and  Mark  left  college  in  his  third  year  and 
shipped  on  the  Rancocus,  a  Canton  packet,  under 
command  of  Captain  Crutchely.  The  young 
man  proved  so  clever  and  handy  that  he  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  officers,  and  long  before  the  vessel  reached 
the  Capes  he  knew  her  from  truck  to  keelson,  and  Captain 
Crutchely  remarked  that  young  Mark  Woolston  was  likely  to 
turn  up  a  trump. 

Though  Mark  was  desirous  to  go  to  sea,  he  did  not  leave 
home  without  regrets,  for,  besides  his  love  for  his  brothers  and 
sisters,  he  had  a  strong  affection  for  a  schoolmate  and  friend  of 
his  sister  Anne,  Bridget  Yardley,  only  child  of  Dr.  Yardley,  his 
father's  chief  professional  competitor.  Both  parents  of  the 
youthful  lovers  were  ignorant  of  the  attraction  each  had  for  the 
other,  and  both  would  have  frowned  upon  it  if  they  had  known 
of  it,  for  the  two  were  almost  at  swords'  points  and  no  longer 
met  even  in  consultations. 

390 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  391 

The  voyage  of  the  Rancocus  to  China  lasted  about  a  twelve- 
month, and  when  Mark  Woolston  returned  he  was  the  envy  of 
all  the  lads  and  the  admiration  of  all  the  girls.  A  second  voy- 
age was  made  to  Amsterdam,  London,  Cadiz,  and  other  ports, 
before  sailing  again  for  Canton,  so  that  the  young  sailor  had 
opportunities  of  seeing  much  of  the  world  and  of  rubbing  off 
some  of  his  provincial  rust.  The  practise  of  nearly  two  years 
had  made  him  a  very  tolerable  sailor,  and  his  college  training 
made  the  study  of  navigation  easy.  Before  sailing  for  Canton 
he  was  transferred  from  the  forecastle  to  the  cabin,  and  so 
became  second  mate  of  the  Rancocus  before  he  had  completed 
his  eighteenth  year. 

On  Mark's  return  from  his  second  voyage,  he  found  Bridget 
fairly  budded  into  womanhood.  She  was,  however,  in  black, 
having  lost  her  mother  in  the  mean  time.  Though  Mark  did 
not  know  it,  Bridget  was  an  heiress  in  right  of  her  mother,  and 
Dr.  Yardley,  who  could  not  bear  the  thought  that  a  son  of  his 
competitor  should  profit  by  his  daughter's  good  fortune,  quar- 
reled with  Mark  and  forbade  him  the  house.  Dr.  Woolston 
soon  heard  of  this  and,  angry  at  the  indignity,  forbade  all  inter- 
course between  the  girls.  Bridget,  thus  cut  off  from  both  her 
friends,  began  to  pine,  and  her  father,  troubled  at  her  changed 
appearance,  sent  her  to  Philadelphia,  to  the  care  of  his  sister, 
hoping  that  a  change  of  scene  would  divert  her  mind.  Now 
the  doctor  either  forgot  that  Mark's  ship  lay  there,  or  expected 
his  sister  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  on  her  niece's  movements; 
but  everything  turned  out  as  he  did  not  anticipate  but  ought 
to  have  expected.  Mark,  now  first  officer  of  the  Rancocus, 
speedily  found  Bridget,  and  the  latter  consented  to  a  marriage, 
which  should  be  kept  a  secret  until  Mark  came  of  age. 

The  ceremony  took  place  one  morning  in  the  cabin  of  the 
Rancocus,  the  officiating  clergyman  being  a  classmate  of  Mark's 
who  had  entered  the  ministry.  The  witnesses  were  Mary  Brom- 
ley, a  friend  of  Bridget's,  and  a  seaman  named  Betts,  or  Bob 
Betts,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  who  was  living  on  the  vessel 
as  shipkeeper.  Duplicate  certificates  were  given  to  the  young 
couple;  Mark  placed  his  in  his  writing-desk  and  Bridget  hers 
in  her  bosom,  and  five  minutes  after  the  ceremony  the  parties 
separated,  and  Bridget  returned  to  her  aunt's  house.     Several 


392 


THE   CRATER 


days  later  Bridget  told  her  husband  that  she  would  come 
into  possession  of  about  thirty  thousand  dollars  on  the  attain- 
ment of  the  age  of  eighteen  or  on  her  marriage,  and  pro- 
posed that  he  should  quit  the  sea  and  remain  with  her  for  life. 
Mark  at  length  yielded  to  Bridget's  tears,  and  went  home  and 
told  his  father.  Dr.  Woolston,  angry  at  first,  soon  became 
reconciled,  and  communicated  the  news  to  Dr.  Yardley  in  a 
very  civil  note.  Dr.  Yardley  had  a  fit  which  nearly  ended  in 
apoplex)',  but  finally  consented  to  meet  Dr.  Woolston.  The 
two  parents  talked  the  matter  over  in  a  reasonable  temper,  but 
decided,  as  medical  men,  that  it  would  be  better  that  the  young 
couple  should  not  live  together  for  two  or  three  years ;  so  it  was 
decided  that  Mark  was  to  remain  aboard  the  Ra?icocus  for 
another  voyage.  This  was  to  be  a  long  one,  the  ship  going 
first  to  some  islands  in  the  Pacific  in  quest  of  sandalwood  and 
beche-de-mer,  and  thence  to  China.  Mark  would  be  of  age 
when  the  vessel  returned,  and  fit  to  command  a  ship  himself  if  he 
saw  fit  to  remain  in  the  profession.  And  so  the  young  couple  sep- 
arated with  bitter  tears  and  Mark  set  out  on  his  fourth  voyage. 

The  Rancocus  touched  at  Rio  for  supplies,  then  rounded  the 
Horn,  and  a  fortnight  later  touched  at  Valparaiso.  After  leav- 
ing this  port,  Captain  Crutchely  sailed  on  nearly  two  months 
across  the  Pacific  in  search  of  the  islands  he  had  been  directed 
to  find.  The  Captain  was  a  good  officer,  but  he  had  one  failing 
■ — he  was  too  fond  of  his  grog.  His  eating  too  was  on  a  level 
with  his  drinking,  and  he  always  sailed  with  a  remarkable  col- 
lection of  pigs,  poultry,  and  vegetables  that  would  keep  at  sea. 
One  day — it  happened  to  be  Mrs.  Crutchely 's  birthday — the 
Captain  had  taken  a  little  more  grog  than  usual.  Mark,  who 
seldom  drank  rum,  saw  the  condition  of  his  superior  with  re- 
gret, especially  as  it  was  reported  that  white  water  had  been 
seen,  during  a  clear  moment,  by  a  man  who  had  just  come 
from  aloft.  He  reported  this  to  the  Captain,  suggesting  that  it 
might  be  well  to  shorten  sail,  round-to,  and  sound.  But  Cap- 
tain Crutchely  treated  the  report  with  no  respect,  and  the  second 
mate,  Hillson,  an  old  sea-dog,  who  owed  his  then  inferior  con- 
dition to  a  still  greater  familiarity  with  grog,  supported  the  Cap- 
tain in  his  contempt  for  the  rumors  of  the  crew. 

The  result  was  that  during  the  night,  which  was  intensely 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  393 

dark,  the  ship  found  herself  amid  breakers,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment she  struck.  The  Captain,  who  appeared  to  be  himself 
again,  ordered  the  sails  clewed  up  and  the  heaviest  furled. 
Killson  was  ordered  to  clear  away  an  anchor,  while  Mark 
attended  to  the  canvas.  The  ship  was  thumping  only  occa- 
sionally, and,  satisfied  that  she  would  beat  over  the  obstruction, 
he  determined  to  drop  one  of  his  bow  anchors  and  wait  for  day- 
light. Hillson,  still  half  intoxicated,  had  bent  the  cable  wrong, 
and  Crutchely  went  forward  to  investigate.  He  ordered  Hill- 
son  off,  as  he  jumped  down  on  the  anchor-stock,  when  the  ship 
made  a  heavy  roll,  with  breakers  appearing  all  around  her,  and 
the  Captain  was  seen  no  more.  Mark  felt  horror  and  regret  at 
the  responsibility  thus  thrust  upon  him,  but  at  once  asserted 
himself  and  gave  his  orders  coolly.  In  hope  of  saving  the  Cap- 
tain, the  jolly-boat  was  lowered  and  six  men  got  into  it.  Mark 
saw  it  shoot  past  the  bows  and  disappear  in  the  darkness;  the 
men  never  reappeared.  Hillson  meanwhile  had  got  the  launch 
safely  into  the  water,  and  while  Mark  was  busy  wath  the  lead- 
line, had  put  provisions  and  a  small  amount  of  specie  from  the 
cabin  into  her.  As  soon  as  the  ship  was  clear  and  in  four 
fathoms  of  water,  Mark  gave  the  order  to  "let  run,"  and  down 
went  the  anchor.  In  swinging  to  her  anchor  a  roller  which  had 
crossed  the  reef  without  breaking  broke  on  board.  How  it 
happened  he  never  knew,  but  as  soon  as  he  recovered  his  sight 
after  the  ducking  he  received,  he  caught  a  dim  view  of  the 
launch  drifting  to  leeward  on  the  top  of  a  wave.  The  next  mo- 
ment it  was  lost  in  the  darkness.  Even  then  Mark  was  un- 
conscious of  the  calamity  that  had  befallen  him.  It  was  only 
when  he  had  visited  cabin,  steerage,  and  forecastle,  that  he 
reached  the  grave  fact  that  there  was  no  one  left  on  board  the 
Rancocus  but  Bob  Betts  and  himself. 

When  these  two  lone  men  discussed  the  realities  of  their 
situation,  they  came  to  the  conclusion  that,  though  the  ship 
was  apparently  unharmed,  it  would  be  impossible  for  them 
to  navigate  her,  even  if  she  could  be  got  out  of  the  reefs  which 
enclosed  her  on  all  sides. 

"I  see  no  hope  for  us,  Mr.  Mark,"  said  Bob,  "but  to  Rob- 
inson Crusoe  it  a  while,  until  our  times  come;  or  till  the  Lord, 
in  His  marcy,  shall  sec  fit  to  have  us  picked  uj)." 


394  THE   CRATER 

"Robinson  Crusoe  it!"  repeated  Mark,  "where  are  we  to 
find  even  an  uninhabited  island  on  which  to  dwell  like  Robinson 
Crusoe?" 

"There's  a  bit  of  a  reef  to  leeward,  where  I  dare  say  a  man 
might  pick  up  a  living,  artcr  a  fashion,"  answered  Bob;  "then, 
here's  the  ship." 

"No,  no.  Bob,  the  ship  cannot  long  remain  where  she  is, 
depend  on  that.  \Vc  must  try  to  pass  down  to  leeward,  if  we 
cannot  beat  through  to  windward." 

"Well,  my  notion  is  to  get  out  the  dingey,  put  some  grub  in 
her,  and  pull  down  to  that  bit  of  a  reef  and  survey  it  and  look 
for  our  shipmates.  I'll  take  the  sculls  and  you  can  heave  the 
lead,  and  we  can  see  if  there  be  a  channel  in  that  direction." 

The  dingey  was  got  out  and  glided  along  so  fast  with  a  light 
sail  that  the  reef  was  soon  reached.  It  was  but  a  few  feet  above 
the  surface  of  the  water  excepting  near  its  center,  where  rose 
an  elevation  of  sixty  to  eighty  feet,  making  a  regular  circular 
mound  that  occupied  no  small  part  of  the  widest  portion  of  the 
island.  The  reef  was  possibly  a  mile  long,  its  greatest  length 
east  and  west,  while  its  breadth  varied  from  half  a  mile  to  less 
than  an  eighth.  Nothing  like  tree,  shrub,  or  grass  was  visible, 
and  no  living  beings  but  aquatic  birds,  of  which  there  were 
many.  Nor  was  there  any  evidence  that  either  of  the  boats 
had  ever  touched  there.  On  reaching  the  foot  of  the  mound 
or  elevation  they  at  once  tried  to  ascend  it  in  hope  of  getting  a 
better  lookout.  Though  difficult  to  climb,  they  succeeded  in 
reaching  the  summit,  and  were  surprised  to  find  a  circular  cav- 
ity within,  which  Mark  recognized  as  the  crater  of  an  extinct 
volcano.  The  mound  or  barrier  of  lava  and  scoric-e  was  almost 
mathematically  circular,  enclosing  an  area  of  about  a  hundred 
acres.  On  the  leeward  side  was  an  opening  or  passage,  on  a 
level  vdth  the  bottom  of  the  crater,  undoubtedly  formed  by  the 
exit  of  lava.  The  height  of  this  opening,  arched  above,  was 
about  twenty  feet  and  its  width  thirty  feet.  That  water  had 
formerly  flowed  through  it  was  shown  by  a  deposit  of  salt, 
which  had  probably  prevented  vegetation. 

Mark  recognized  at  once  that  this  mound  was  the  topmost 
pinnacle  of  a  submarine  mountain  of  volcanic  origin,  and  that 
the  reefs  surrounding  it  and  rising  near  the  surface  in  fifty 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  395 

places  were  due  to  the  same  great  upheaval  which  had  formed 
the  mountain.  As  far  as  he  could  judge,  these  reefs  extended 
east  and  west  at  least  twelve  marine  leagues,  and  north  and 
south  but  little  less.  Concluding  that  he  and  his  companion 
would  have  to  make  the  place  their  home,  possibly  for  many 
years,  he  began  to  speculate  on  the  means  of  doing  so  to  the 
best  advantage.  First,  he  saw  the  necessity  of  getting  the 
ship  nearer  the  crater  and  in  a  safer  anchorage;  and,  after 
sounding  and  buoying  a  channel,  she  was  brought  in  and  an- 
chored close  to  the  wall  of  the  sunken  reef  just  in  time  to  escape 
a  gale  which  would  probably  have  wrecked  her  in  her  old  posi- 
tion. She  was  finally  secured  so  near  the  precipitous  wall  that 
a  plank  bridge  was  built  to  her,  rendering  her  easy  of  access. 
All  the  live  stock,  consisting  of  fowls,  ducks,  pigs,  and  one  goat, 
was  set  ashore,  and  preparations  made  to  form  a  soil  on  the 
bare  rock  in  which  to  plant  seeds  and  induce  vegetation.  As 
the  Rancocus  had  been  fitted  out  to  trade  with  the  natives  of  the 
islands,  she  was  supplied  not  only  with  beads  and  trinkets,  but 
with  many  kinds  of  common  tools,  coarse  cloths,  iron  and 
earthern  ware,  and  a  hundred  other  things  in  ordinary  domestic 
use.  She  had  also  a  goodly  assortment  of  seeds  and  roots  for 
planting.  Wliile  the  ship  and  her  cargo  were  preserved,  the 
two  had  a  dwelling,  clothes,  food,  fuel,  and  water,  with  the 
means  of  labor.  The  reef  was  utterly  bare,  without  either 
wood  or  water;  but  they  caught  rain-water,  filled  extra  casks  with 
it  and  stored  them  for  future  use.  They  found  also  large  de- 
posits of  guano  and  of  loam  made  by  the  decomposition  of  sea- 
weed, which,  by  mixing  with  the  volcanic  ash  of  the  crater,  made 
excellent  soil  They  thus  made  a  fine  kitchen-garden  in  the 
crater  which  produced  vegetables  and  melons  in  profusion,  and 
saved  them  from  the  fears  of  scurvy. 

After  many  months  of  hard  labor  in  their  little  kingdom, 
they  began  to  think  of  building  a  boat  to  enable  them  to  reach 
some  of  the  islands.  They  found  in  the  ship  the  frame  and 
planking  of  a  ten-ton  vessel  of  twenty-four-feet  keel,  which 
they  transported  to  the  reef  and  set  up  in  a  place  convenient 
for  launching.  They  stepped  the  mast,  rigged  her,  and  bent 
the  sails  before  launching  and,  at  Bob's  suggestion,  stowed  in 
her  provisions  and  water,  so  that  the  pinnace  was  ready  to  go  to 


396  THE   CRATER 

sea  at  once.  That  night  they  slept  in  the  ship  in  the  expecta- 
tion that  it  would  be  their  last  one  there,  but  they  were  waked 
early  by  the  sound  of  a  gale  so  violent  as  to  threaten  the  ship's 
safety.  Both  hastened  ashore,  and  while  ]\lark  looked  after  the 
live  stock,  which  he  drove  into  the  crater,  and  to  the  security 
of  a  tent  containing  books  and  furniture,  which  had  been  left 
there,  Bob  ran  to  the  pinnace.  When  Mark  sought  to  join 
him,  he  saw  Bob  gesticulating  from  the  deck  of  the  pinnace 
which  was  apparently  mo^•ing  on  her  ways.  He  bounded  down 
the  hill,  intending  to  swim  off  to  Betts's  aid;  but  a  moment  later 
the  pinnace  was  lifted  on  a  sea  and  washed  clear  of  the  land. 
Mark  saw  Betts  in  the  stern-sheets  acting  with  the  utmost  .cool- 
ness; he  put  the  helm  hard  down,  which  caused  the  bow  of 
the  vessel,  which  still  had  stern-way  on  her,  to  fall  off,  and  she 
soon  began  to  draw  ahead  as  the  wind  caught  her  broadside. 
Mark  hardly  breathed  as  he  watched  her  driving  furiously 
onward  like  a  frantic  steed  into  the  raging  seas  until  she  dis- 
appeared in  the  mists. 

Thus  was  a  sudden  and  most  unexpected  change  brought 
about  in  the  situation  of  Mark  Woolston.  Not  only  had  he  lost 
the  means  of  getting  off  the  island,  but  he  had  lost  his  friend 
and  companion.  He  watched  day  after  day  from  the  crosstrees 
of  the  ship  hoping  to  see  the  Neshamony,  as  the  pinnace  had 
been  named,  but  at  last  gave  her  up  for  lost.  Shortly  after- 
ward he  was  taken  ill  of  a  fever  and  lay  many  weeks  almost 
unconscious  in  the  cabin  of  the  Rancocus,  how  long  he  never 
knew ;  but  when  he  came  to  himself  and  was  enabled  to  visit  the 
crater  again,  he  found  that  all  his  plantations  had  prospered, 
that  rich  grass  was  growing  in  the  crater,  and  that  one  of  the  sows 
was  followed  by  a  litter  of  ten  pigs,  and  a  hen  by  a  brood  of 
chickens.  These  furnished  him  with  fresh  meat,  which  was 
very  gratifying  after  the  coarse  food  of  the  ship,  especially  as 
he  had  now  a  ravenous  appetite.  He  had,  too,  plenty  of  fresh 
eggs;  but  it  took  him  at  least  two  months  to  recover  his  strength. 

The  next  summer  he  built  and  rigged  another  boat  from 
material  found  in  the  ship,  and  greatly  enjoyed  sailing  among 
the  reefs.  He  had  formed  plans  to  remain  out  all  night  and  to 
extend  his  voyage,  when  he  noticed  that  the  sea-birds  showed 
great  uneasiness  and  the  sun  went  down  in  a  fiery  bank.     With 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  397 

these  warnings  he  returned  to  the  Rancociis  and  secured  his 
boat,  named  the  Bridget  Yardley,  for  the  night.  When  he 
awoke  from  sleep  he  felt  a  sense  of  suffocation,  and  a  lurid  light 
shone  in  the  cabin  door.  He  sprang  up,  fearful  that  the  ship 
had  caught  fire,  and  went  out  on  the  poop.  As  he  reached  the 
deck,  the  ship  trembled  from  truck  to  keel,  hissing  sounds  were 
heard,  and  streams  of  fire  and  gleams  of  light  filled  the  air.  He 
knew  at  once  that  he  had  felt  the  shock  of  an  earthquake,  and 
believed  that  the  old  volcano  had  again  become  active;  but 
when  he  looked  at  the  crater  everything  there  was  tranquil. 
Yet  smoke  and  ashes  certainly  filled  the  air,  and  murky  vapor 
rendered  breathing  difficult.  A  shift  of  wind  soon  cleared  away 
the  sulphurous  and  offensive  odors,  and  the  coming  of  light 
enabled  him  to  look  abroad.  The  earthquake  had  thrust  up- 
ward a  vast  surface  of  the  surrounding  reefs,  and  the  crater 
reef,  which  previously  lay  only  about  six  feet  above  the  sea, 
was  now  fully  twenty  feet  high,  so  that  the  bridge  connecting 
it  with  the  ship,  and  which  had  formed  a  descent,  was  now 
level.  Still  the  ship  floated,  enough  water  remaining  to  keep 
her  keel  clear  of  the  bottom. 

As  soon  as  daylight  came  Mark  set  out  to  explore  his  new 
domain.  He  found  that  he  could  now  travel  dry-shod  over 
leagues  of  rocks  that  had  lately  been  reefs  under  the  sea.  In 
one  place  he  found  a  long  stretch  of  sandy  beach,  with  springs 
of  cold  and  limpid  water.  The  old  crater  was  apparently  about 
the  center  of  the  new  creation,  though  the  land  seemed  to 
stretch  indefinitely  southward,  where  a  vast,  dun-looking  cloud 
veiled  the  surface.  Mark  found  that  Crater  Island,  as  he  called 
it,  was  separated  from  the  next  land  by  a  channel  about  twenty 
feet  wide  and  twice  as  deep.  He  bridged  this  with  planks 
from  the  ship,  and  finding  plenty  of  fresh  water  there,  led  all 
his  live  stock  over,  his  pigs  in  particular  taking  great  delight 
in  their  new  range.  Some  two  or  three  leagues  from  the  crater 
he  came  to  a  rock  about  a  hundred  feet  high,  from  the  top  of 
which  he  had  a  long  view  southward,  and  he  saw  distinctly  a 
high,  rugged  mountain  rising  out  of  the  sea,  and  not  far  from 
it  a  column  of  smoke  curling  toward  a  huge  low-hanging 
cloud  above  it. 

Several  days  later  he  fitted  out  the  Bridget  with  provisions 


398  THE   CRATER 

and  set  out  to  visit  this  mountain,  which  he  named  Vulcan's 
Peak.  Instead  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  from  Crater 
Island,  as  he  had  calculated,  he  found  it  nearer  sixty  miles  dis- 
tant. Entering  through  a  narrow  inlet  he  found  himself  nearly 
becalmed  in  a  beautiful  basin  a  hundred  yards  in  diameter 
surrounded  by  a  sandy  beach.  Following  a  ravine,  down  which 
tumbled  a  foaming,  roaring  stream,  he  began  the  ascent  of  the 
mountain.  After  walking  about  two  miles,  the  appearance  of 
things  changed.  The  rocks  looked  older  than  those  below, 
and  he  saw  clearly  that  this  part  could  not  have  emerged  from 
the  sea  during  the  late  eruption.  Everything  indicated  that 
the  top  of  the  Peak  had  been  a  low-lying  island,  invisible  from 
Crater  Island,  which  had  been  elevated  into  a  mountain.  This 
was  made  certain  when  he  reached  a  plain  near  the  summit 
and  found  it  covered  with  wood,  cocoanut,  bread-fruit,  and 
other  tropical  trees,  and  verdant  with  grasses.  Mark  rested  an 
hour  in  this  delicious  grove,  in  which  were  birds  of  brilliant 
plumage,  and  numerous  small  ones  that  resembled  the  reed- 
birds  he  was  familiar  with  at  home.  He  shot  some  of  these, 
built  a  fire  with  the  assistance  of  the  pan  of  his  gun,  and  spitted 
and  roasted  them,  with  a  couple  of  plantains,  thus  making  a 
regal  dinner.  With  Bridget  for  his  Eve,  he  thought,  he  would 
be  willing  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  in  such  a  paradise. 

Mark  now  ascended  the  Peak  itself,  on  which  he  found  a 
deposit  of  ancient  guano,  the  washings  of  which  had  doubtless 
contributed  to  the  fertility  of  the  plain.  Looking  northward 
through  his  glass,  he  could  see  the  group  around  the  Crater, 
though  the  ship  was  not  visible;  and  westward,  at  a  distance  of 
possibly  a  hundred  miles,  he  could  descry  other  mountainous 
land,  and  beyond  it  the  haze  of  more  land.  After  he  had  gazed 
a  long  time  at  this,  which  gave  a  promise  of  deliverance,  he 
turned  his  eyes  nearer  the  Peak  and  saw  something  that  nearly 
caused  him  to  leap  into  the  air.  It  was  but  a  speck  on  the  blue 
waves,  but  it  was  most  decidedly  a  vessel  beating  up  to  get 
under  the  lee  of  the  island.  A  moment  later  he  recognized  it 
as  the  Neshamony,  in  which  Bob  Betts  had  gone  off.  He  fired 
his  gun  to  attract  attention,  his  signal  was  answered,  and  two 
hours  later  his  old  shipmate,  who  was  accompanied  by  a  black 
man,  rejoined  him. 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  399 

Betts's  story  was  soon  told.  When  driven  off  by  the  gale, 
he  had  no  choice  but  to  let  the  Neshamony  drive  to  leeward. 
He  tried  for  a  week  to  beat  back,  but  without  success.  At  the 
end  of  a  week  he  found  himself  near  a  large  uninhabited  island, 
which  he  named  Rancocus  after  the  ship,  and  which  proved  to 
be  the  land  seen  by  Mark  from  the  Peak.  From  the  highest 
point  of  this  he  could  see  other  land,  w^here  later  he  found 
natives  and  a  Spanish  brig  trading  with  them.  Leaving  the 
Neshamony  in  care  of  the  native  chief,  he  sailed  on  the  brig  to 
Panama,  whence  he  made  his  way  to  Philadelphia.  As  soon 
as  Bridget  heard  of  Mark's  situation,  she  determined  to  go  to 
his  aid.  Accompanied  by  Dr.  Heaton  and  his  wife,  who  was 
Mark's  sister  Anne,  and  others,  attended  by  several  servants, 
she  sailed  from  New  York  for  Panama,  and  took  passage  thence 
for  the  islands  in  the  same  Spanish  brig  that  Betts  had  come  in. 
The  party  carried  stores  and  some  live  stock,  including  horses, 
cows,  and  goats,  intending,  if  necessary,  to  make  a  long  stay. 
Betts  had  left  them  at  Rancocus  Island,  and  had  set  out  in  the 
Neshamony,  which  he  found  safe  on  his  return  to  the  islands, 
to  find  Mark. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  reunion  of  Mark  and 
Bridget  was  a  joyful  one,  and  that  the  party  at  Rancocus  Island 
gave  the  rescued  mariner  an  enthusiastic  welcome.  A  week 
was  spent  on  the  island,  where  tents  had  been  pitched  and  all 
had  recuperated  after  the  long  voyage;  but,  as  the  location  was 
known  to  the  natives  of  the  neighboring  islands,  it  was  deemed 
best  to  remove  the  little  colony  to  the  Peak.  This  was  accom- 
plished with  considerable  difficulty,  as  only  one  of  the  larger 
animals  could  be  carried  at  a  time  on  the  Neshamony.  Finally 
all  were  settled  in  the  grove  half-way  up  Vulcan's  Peak,  which 
Mark  determined  to  make  his  future  residence,  though  still 
retaining  his  interest  in  Crater  Reef.  Bridget  soon  accom- 
panied Mark  to  the  ship,  which  had  for  her  so  many  pleasing 
recollections,  and  spent  a  week  there,  visiting  the  scenes  con- 
nected with  her  husband's  solitary  life.  She  would  gladly 
have  remained  longer,  but  the  Governor,  as  Dr.  Heaton  had 
styled  Mark,  felt  that  it  would  be  more  prudent  to  return  to 
the  Peak,  as  he  no  longer  felt  the  sense  of  security  that  he  en- 
joyed before  he  knew  of  the  proximity  of  peopled  islands. 


400  THE   CRATER 

Time  will  not  permit  a  full  history  of  the  life  of  the  little 
colony  during  the  several  years  following,  in  which  it  received 
many  accessions,  until  it  finally  numbered  several  hundred 
souls.  A  town  was  built  at  the  Peak  with  good  dwellings  and 
substantial  government  buildings  of  stone,  sawmills  and  brick- 
kilns were  erected  and  a  shipyard,  where  a  schooner  and  other 
vessels  were  constructed.  ]\Ieans  of  defense  were  found  in  the 
guns  of  the  Rancocus,  some  of  which  were  brought  to  the  Peak 
and  mounted  so  as  to  command  the  narrow  entrance  and  the 
road  to  the  grove.  This  was  fortunate,  for  with  them  the 
colonists  were  enabled  to  defend  themselves  successfully  against 
attacks  both  by  savages  and  by  pirates. 

The  colonists  built  large  vessels  and  engaged  in  the  whale- 
fishery  and  in  trade  with  neighboring  islands,  sending  sandal- 
wood to  China  and  oil  to  Panama.  The  old  Rancocus  was 
finally  got  out  of  her  berth  and  Mark  took  her  personally  to 
Canton,  where  he  exchanged  her  cargo  of  sandalwood  for  teas 
and  sailed  for  Philadelphia.  The  owners  of  the  ship  were  dead, 
and  the  insurers,  after  deducting  the  sum  paid  to  the  firm,  gave 
her  and  the  balance  of  the  proceeds  of  sales  to  Captain  Woolston, 
as  a  reward  for  his  integrity.  He  thus  received,  besides  the 
ship,  nearly  eleven  thousand  dollars  in  gold.  Dr.  Yardley 
now  relented  and  gave  his  son-in-law  his  hand.  He  also  turned 
over  to  him  money  belonging  to  Bridget,  so  that  Mark  had 
more  than  twenty  thousand  dollars  at  his  disposal.  This  en- 
abled him  to  take  back  a  cargo  of  things  needed  by  his  colony, 
including  more  live  stock,  and  some  carefully  selected  colonists, 
especially  mechanics.  He  also  carried  field-guns,  ship's  guns, 
two  hundred  muskets  and  fifty  brace  of  pistols,  and  much 
ammunition.  One  half  the  profits  were  set  aside  for  himself 
as  owner  of  the  Rancocus,  and  the  remainder  was  given  to 
the  State  for  the  benefit  of  all. 

After  many  years  in  this  Utopia,  during  which  Captain 
Woolston  had  become  wealthy,  the  colonists,  who  owed  all 
their  prosperity  to  him,  came  under  the  influence  of  a  dema- 
gogue and,  forgetful  of  their  obligations,  elected  one  Pennock 
Governor  of  the  colony  in  his  stead.  Dr.  Heaton,  who  felt 
their  ingratitude  keenly,  determined  to  return  to  America;  and 
Bridget  having  expressed  a  desire  to  see  her  old  home  once 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  401 

more,  the  two  families,  together  with  the  Bettses,  sailed  for 
Philadelphia  on  the  Rancocus.  Captain  Woolston,  having  the 
good  of  the  colony  at  heart,  notwithstanding  its  treatment  of 
him,  determined  to  take  out  one  more  cargo  to  the  islands. 
The  Rancocus  was  therefore  laden  with  suitable  goods  and  he 
and  Betts  returned  in  her,  leaving  their  families  in  Philadelphia. 
From  Valparaiso  they  ran  by  a  more  southerly  route  than 
usual  to  near  the  latitude  and  longitude  of  the  Peak,  but  no 
land  was  in  sight.  At  last  a  solitary  rock  was  descried,  rising 
about  three  hundred  feet  above  the  sea.  Captain  Woolston 
went  to  this  in  a  small  boat,  and  as  he  neared  it  he  saw  that  it 
was  no  other  than  the  summit  of  Vulcan's  Peak!  A  cry  escaped 
him  as  he  recognized  the  dreadful  truth — all  the  rest  of  his 
paradise  had  sunk  beneath  the  ocean! 


A.D.,  VOL.  V. — 26 


JACK  TIER   (1848) 

The  dramatic  quality  of  this  story,  with  its  surprising  climax,  has  always 
made  it  one  of  this  author's  most  popular  tales. 

[he  swift  and  stanch  brigantine  Molly  Swash  was 
lying  at  a  wliarf  on  the  East  River  opposite 
Blackwell's  Island,  New  York.  Her  passengers 
and  cargo  were  on  board,  and  she  was  only  wait- 
ing for  the  turn  of  the  tide  to  beat  through  the 
wild  waters  of  Hell  Gate  and  put  to  sea.  At 
that  time  very  few  vessels  besides  small  coasters 
loaded  at  that  wharf,  which  was  in  a  remote  and 
thinly  settled  part  of  the  city.  This  fact  alone 
was  sufficient  to  attract  attention,  especially  as  the  war  with 
Mexico  was  then  in  full  blast,  and  smuggling  of  contraband  of 
war  to  that  country  from  the  United  States  was  known  to  be 
a  regular  business.  Captain  Stephen  Spike  of  the  brigantine 
was  also  well  known  alongshore,  not  only  as  a  consummate 
seaman  but  also  a  daring  and  unscrupulous  adventurer.  Cap- 
tain Spike  therefore  showed  unmistakable  alarm  when  a  quiet, 
official-looking  man  appeared  on  the  wharf,  carefully  looked  all 
over  the  vessel,  alow  and  aloft,  and  demanded  whether  she 
was  provided  with  a  pilot. 

The  master  at  once  ordered  the  mate  to  make  sail  and  cast 
off.  He  was  further  disturbed  by  the  sight  of  a  short,  stocky 
sailor,  with  close-cropped  gray  hair,  who  announced  himself 
as  Jack  Tier;  twenty  years  back  he  had  made  several  voyages 
as  steward  and  foremast  hand  with  Spike,  and  now  asked  a 
berth  in  the  brigantine.  The  Captain,  although  having  a  large 
crew,  needed  another  hand,  but  hesitated  to  grant  this  request, 
especially  as  the  passing  of  a  United  States  steam  revenue 
cutter  at  that  time  and  toward  the  Sound  was  another  suspicious 
sign  that  delayed  a  decision.     In  the  mean  time  the  Molly 

402 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  403 

Swash  got  headway,  while  the  Captain  was  hesitating,  and  thus 
Jack  Tier  was  left  behind.  The  breeze  was  freshening,  and 
by  the  great  skill  of  the  master  and  zeal  on  the  part  of  all  hands, 
but  not  without  several  very  narrow  escapes  in  threading  the 
tortuous  channel  of  Hell  Gate,  the  smart  little  ship  finally 
reached  smoother  water.  Anxious  to  reconnoiter — for,  if  he 
was  indeed  watched  by  the  government  cruisers  and  officials, 
his  neck  was  in  danger — Captain  Spike  now  resorted  to  a  variety 
of  maneuvers  to  avoid  or  thwart  suspicion.  While  engaged  in 
this  extremely  difiicult  task,  he  had  the  dubious  pleasure  of  see- 
ing Jack  Tier  come  off  in  a  small  skiff,  being  evidently  deter- 
mined, as  if  by  premonition,  to  go  this  voyage  with  his  old 
Captain.  Spike  alleged  that  he  had  heard  Jack  Tier  had  died 
with  yellow  fever  in  New  Orleans,  and  his  reappearance  now 
under  such  circumstances  was  of  a  nature  to  arouse  super- 
stitious dread  in  the  heart  of  a  sailor.  But  he  finally  admitted 
Jack  on  board  and  assigned  him,  as  under-steward  or  cabin- 
boy,  to  care  especially  for  the  two  .lady  passengers,  Mrs.  Budd, 
a  portly  widow,  relict  of  Captain  Budd,  at  one  time  captain 
over  Spike  in  his  younger  days  of  roughing  and  sin,  and  her 
lovely  niece.  Rose  Budd.  These  ladies  had  been  induced  or 
invited,  according  as  one  chose  to  look  at  it,  to  take  this  voy- 
age; and  a  variety  of  motives  secretly  influencing  each  actor 
developed  a  singular  entanglement  little  to  be  suspected  or  ex- 
pected by  anyone  who  had  never  taken  a  voyage  on  a  sailing 
ship,  which,  with  its  plots,  intrigues,  and  subtle  byplays  of 
comedy  and  tragedy,  is  a  complete  epitome  of  life.  Mrs.  Budd, 
a  woman  of  small  brain  and  incredible  loquacity  and  self- 
esteem,  believed  Captain  Spike  was  in  love  with  her,  while  in 
reality  her  niece  was  the  attraction.  The  latter  abhorred  this 
weather-beaten  compound  of  greed,  cunning,  and  selfish  ability, 
but  was  very  favorably  inclined  to  Mr.  Harry  Mulford,  the 
mate,  a  capable,  handsome  mariner,  aged  twenty-two  years. 

Captain  Spike's  diagnosis  of  the  situation  of  the  brigantine 
was  correct.  The  Government  had  got  wind  of  the  plans  of 
her  Captain,  and,  as  he  anticijjated,  was  on  the  lookout  to  seize 
his  vessel.  The  cool  maneuvering  by  which  he  succeeded  in 
evading  the  steam  and  sailing  vessels  which  sought  to  corner 
him  was  a  masterpiece  of  seamanship,  although  it  was  not 


404  JACK   TIER 

until  he  had  got  well  beyond  INIontauk  that  he  was  actually  out 
of  immediate  danger. 

Everything  went  on  well;  the  winds  were  fair,  the  vessel  was 
able  to  carry  all  her  cloth  and  make  a  straight  wake  in  the 
direction  of  Jamaica;  and  palavering  and  flirting  proceeded  as 
if  all  were  bound  to  the  Happy  Isles.  Spike  was  as  happy  as 
if  lie  already  heard  the  clink  of  doubloons  flowing  into  his 
pockets,  until  one  bright  morning  the  cry  of  "Sail  ho!"  rang 
from  aloft.  Nowadays,  if  one  is  engaged  in  secret  business  on 
the  high  seas  that  he  would  fain  conceal,  that  cry  means  a 
steam  vessel  heralded  by  a  column  or  feathery  plume  of  black 
smoke.  But  in  the  'forties,  "Sail  ho"  applied  to  real,  white, 
sun-gleaming  canvas,  rather  than  Plutonian  smoke.  And 
snowy  canvas  it  was  indeed  that  was  now  seen  looming  in  the 
offing  by  the  anxious  eyes  studying  the  white  pyramid  rising 
rapidly,  as  it  pointed  toward  the  Molly  Swash,  and  confirmed 
the  fear  that  it  brought  a  United  States  ship-of-war. 

The  Swash  crowded  on  all  sail  to  escape;  evidently  Spike 
had  a  bad  conscience  about  something,  or  he  would  not  have 
been  so  anxious  to  fly  from  a  cruiser  of  his  own  country.  But 
although  the  vessel  had  a  slippery  pair  of  heels  and  was  ably 
commanded,  the  vastly  superior  weight  of  the  war-ship  and  her 
heavy  guns  were  too  much  for  the  brigantine ;  and  when  the  big 
explosive  shot  whistled  across  her  bow  as  a  signal  to  stop,  Cap- 
tain Spike  decided  to  trust  to  his  wits  rather  than  to  his  canvas, 
and  hove  to  with  the  foretopsail  flat  to  the  mast.  The  man- 
of-war  proved  to  be  the  twenty-gun  sloop  or  corvette  Pough- 
keepsie,  a  large  ship  for  her  metal  and  beautiful  to  look  at  as 
she  rocked  gracefully  on  the  blue,  gleaming  waves  near  the 
coast  of  Cuba  that  fair  morning  of  a  day  of  grim  destiny,  as  it 
proved  in  the  long  run,  for  all  on  board  the  Molly  Swash. 

Mr.  Wallace,  second  lieutenant  of  the  corvette,  commanded 
the  boat  which  boarded  the  brigantine.  Having  examined  her 
papers  and  found  them  apparently  correct,  he  then  ordered 
the  hatches  to  be  opened  and  proceeded  to  examine  the  cargo. 
It  consisted,  ostensibly,  of  barrels  of  flour.  This  seemed  evi- 
dent from  the  flour  which  had  escaped  through  such  barrels 
as  had  been  loosened  when  stowed  below,  due  especially  to  the 
fact  that  the  hold  was  barely  more  than  half  full.     Spike  ex- 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  405 

plained  this  on  the  ground  that  he  lacked  the  means  to  buy  a 
full  freight.  Wallace,  being  rather  easy-going,  omitted  to  have 
any  of  the  barrels  examined,  satisfied  with  outward  appear- 
ances, for  which  he  was  afterward  slightly  reproved  by  Cap- 
tain Mull,  commander  of  the  Poughkeepsie.  Spike  also  plau- 
sibly explained  why,  being  bound,  as  his  papers  showed,  to  Key 
West,  he  was  so  far  out  of  his  course.  And  the  boat  returned 
to  the  Poughkeepsie,  which,  after  some  deliberation,  headed 
around  the  south  of  Cuba. 

The  brigantine  remained  stationary  for  a  while,  as  if  to 
make  repairs;  then,  being  beyond  easy  pursuit,  swung  to  lee- 
ward, headed  for  the  south  of  Jamaica,  and  thence  sailed 
around  to  the  long,  low  cluster  of  coral  islets  called  the  Dry 
Tortugas.  There  Spike  was  on  familiar  ground.  He  had 
learned,  by  numerous  similar  questionable  expeditions,  every 
winding  passage  and  shark-haunted  reef  of  the  Tortugas.  On 
arriving  there  he  discovered  a  Spanish  schooner  which  was 
waiting  for  him,  and  at  once  proceeded  to  transfer  to  its  hold 
the  cargo  of  the  Molly  Swash.  During  these  operations  Spike 
had  little  to  say  to  his  passengers,  having  suffered  as  keen  morti- 
fication as  one  of  his  thick  hide  was  able  to  feel  when  Mrs. 
Budd  accidentally  learned  that  it  was  not  the  aunt  but  the 
niece  that  he  was  trying  to  win;  and  also  because  his  attention 
was  imperatively  demanded  by  the  hazardous  nature  of  the 
business  he  was  now  conducting.  Before  the  brig  arrived  at 
her  destination  Spike  had  caused  her  to  be  painted  another 
color  and  made  other  changes,  such  as  every  sailor  knows,  to 
disguise  the  identity  of  the  ship.  But  the  most  ominous  sign 
that  desperate  deeds  were  on  foot  was  the  stealing  of  Mr.  Mul- 
ford's  case  of  nautical  instruments,  the  mate's  own  property, 
whose  loss  would  greatly  hamper  any  possible  intention  on  his 
part  either  to  desert  or  to  thwart  the  deviltries  that  were  cook- 
ing. Of  course  the  case  was  stolen  by  Spike  or  a  confederate 
acting  under  his  direct  command.  Suspicion,  dread  conspir- 
acy, unspeakable  crimes,  were  in  the  air.  Harry  IMulford  was 
closely  watched,  Spike's  shrewdness,  backed  by  fear,  having 
divined  that  the  mate  had  discovered  his  Captain's  intentions, 
and  would  be  glad  to  escape  from  the  brigantine  and  from  op- 
erations of  which  he  bad  been  kept  in  ignorance  and  now  wholly 


4o6  JACK  TIER 

disapproved.  Spike  was  now  aware  also  that,  in  case  of  the 
seizure  of  the  Molly  Swash,  it  might  be  difficult  for  him  to  bring 
proof  sufficient  to  save  him  from  tlie  prison  or  the  gallows. 

There  was  a  tall  lighthouse  on  one  of  the  islets,  and  Spike 
soon  caused  the  keeper  and  his  assistant  to  be  removed  to  the 
cabin  of  his  ship,  thus  leaving  the  lighthouse  in  darkness  after 
nightfall.  This  act  spoke  for  itself.  Jack  Tier  called  Mul- 
ford's  special  attention  to  this  remarkable  incident.  Spike, 
pointing  to  the  assumed  signs  of  the  weather,  urged  the  utmost 
expedition  in  transferring  the  barrels  to  the  schooner.  Like  all 
Spanish  vessels,  she  carried  a  large  crew;  and  in  the  general 
hubbub  of  the  transfer  of  cargoes  one  of  the  barrels  fell  and 
burst.  When  the  cloud  of  flour-dust  had  cleared  away,  a  keg 
of  powder  was  discovered  in  the  middle  of  the  barrel!  Mul- 
ford  was  now  prepared  for  any  crime,  and  realized  that  not  only 
his  own  life  but  that  of  others  also  was  quite  likely  in  jeopardy. 
As  Jack  Tier,  who  thoroughly  knew  Spike,  said  to  Mulford: 
"He  is  a  willain!" 

The  Mexican  agent  who  was  managing  affairs  for  the 
schooner,  Don  Juan  Montefalderan,  was,  at  least  in  his  outward 
bearing,  a  thorough  gentleman.  The  business  in  which  he  was 
engaged  was  not  criminal  so  far  as  concerned  him.  As  a 
patriot  he  was  conserving  the  interests  of  his  own  people  and 
was  justifiable  in  equity  and  law.  His  position  was  quite  the 
reverse  to  that  of  Spike.  In  two  hours  the  brig's  cargo  was 
mostly  in  the  hold  of  the  Spanish  schooner,  and  a  large  sack 
of  doubloons  was  transferred  to  the  cabin  of  the  Swash.  An- 
other bag  of  money  lay  snug  in  the  schooner  preparatory  to  the 
settlement  of  a  proposed  sale  of  the  Molly  Swash  to  the  Mexi- 
can. This  information  had  been  gained  by  Rose  while  the  two 
captains  were  discussing  below,  and  was  repeated  by  her  to 
Alulford,  her  lover,  with  whom  she  often  held  brief  stolen  inter- 
views at  this  sad  time  of  dreadful  anxiety  and  crime.  They 
realized  that  it  was  necessary  to  proceed  with  the  utmost  cool- 
ness and  caution.  Suppose,  for  example,  that  Spike  should 
sell  the  brig,  finding  it  difficult  in  the  end  to  escape  the  American 
cruisers,  how  did  he  intend  to  dispose  of  his  passengers,  and 
especially  of  Mulford,  who  need  expect  no  mercy  from  him? 

In  the  mean  time  a  sudden  and  violent  tornado,  common 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  407 

in  the  West  Indies,  struck  the  bay  where  the  vessels  were  lying. 
Springing  instantly  on  deck,  Spike  got  his  vessel  head  to  the 
wind  just  in  time  to  save  her.  But  the  schooner  was  sunk  and 
the  twenty-two  men  who  were  busy  in  the  hold  were  drowned. 
"With  his  usual  energy  on  such  occasions,  and  moved  especially 
to  recover  the  bag  of  doubloons  in  her  cabin.  Spike  set  to  work 
at  once  to  raise  the  schooner.  At  the  end  of  the  day  every  man 
was  so  deep  in  sleep,  regardless  of  tornadoes  and  hostile  men- 
of-war,  that  they  were  completely  surprised  when  a  ship's  gig 
or  small  four-oared  boat  appeared  alongside  from  the  Pough- 
keepsie.  Lieutenant  Wallace  after  careful  observations  was  en- 
tirely satisfied  before  returning  to  the  man-of-war  that  immedi- 
ate means  must  be  taken  to  seize  the  Molly  Swash.  Convinced 
that  such  action  was  now  imminent,  Spike,  ostensibly  for  their 
own  comfort,  removed  the  good  if  feeble-minded  Mrs.  Budd, 
Rose,  Biddy  the  maid,  and  Jack  Tier,  their  assistant,  to  a  small 
tent  made  of  old  sails,  which  he  had  caused  to  be  erected  on  a 
neighboring  key,  and  used  every  exertion  to  raise  the  schooner 
and  remove  all  the  remaining  flour-barrels  to  the  island  where 
the  schooner  was  sunk,  partly  to  transfer  them  and  partly  to 
reduce  the  danger  to  the  brigantine  from  serious  accident.  But 
many  barrels  were  still  on  the  deck  of  the  Swash  when  the  shot 
from  the  Poughkeepsie  began  to  whistle  in  the  air  unpleasantly 
near  to  the  scene  of  operations.  A  big  Paixhans  shell  finally 
hit  the  barrels  on  shore,  which  went  up  into  smoke  with  a  tre- 
mendous explosion.  This  settled  the  question  as  to  whether 
Spike  was  engaged  in  selling  powder  rather  than  flour  to  Mexico, 
with  which  the  United  States  was  then  at  war.  Rolling  the 
barrels  still  on  her  deck  hurriedly  into  the  sea,  Spike  made  all 
sail  on  the  brigantine,  but  not  until  some  of  her  spars  were 
crippled  by  round  shot.  The  Poughkeepsie  made  no  delay  in 
starting  in  pursuit.  But  being  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the 
winding  passages  between  the  keys  through  which  the  sloop  of 
war  could  not  follow.  Spike  succeeded  in  getting  away  with  a 
whole  skin  but  without  the  sack  of  doubloons  still  concealed 
in  the  schooner,  to  lose  which  would  be  to  sacrifice  half  the 
profits  of  this  dangerous  enterprise. 

But  before  the  brigantine  got  away,  Mr.  Mulford,  the  mate, 
who,  disapproving  this  dark  plot,  was  anxious  to  avoid  being 


4oS  JACK  TIER 

captured  and  court-martialed  for  deeds  into  which  he  had  been 
trapped  by  the  guile  of  Captain  Spike,  quietly  disappeared. 
The  confusion  had  enabled  him  to  escape  in  the  large  boat  of 
the  lighthouse  which  was  made  fast  to  the  brig's  stern.  By 
this  act,  of  course,  Mulford,  while  perhaps  avoiding  punishment 
by  the  man-of-war,  incurred  the  furious  hostility  of  Spike, 
although  he  hoped  never  to  see  the  smuggler  again,  at  least  in 
those  waters. 

After  the  brigantine  and  the  corvette  had  disappeared,  Mul- 
ford proceeded  to  carry  out  a  plan  by  which  he,  Rose,  his  fiancee, 
and  the  other  women  could  escape  to  Key  West,  sixty  or  seventy 
miles  away.  By  the  efforts  of  Spike  the  schooner  had  been 
raised  and  was  afloat  on  an  even  keel.  The  water  still  remain- 
ing in  her,  Mulford,  aided  by  Rose,  Biddy,  and  Jack  Tier,  suc- 
ceeded in  pumping  out.  They  then  made  sail,  although  with 
some  danger,  for  she  was  short  of  sufficient  ballast;  but  as  the 
weather  promised  fine  at  least  until  they  could  reach  Key  West, 
they  were  in  high  hopes  that  their  troubles  were  over.  The 
lighthouse  boat  was  towed  astern  to  be  ready  in  the  event  of 
sudden  need. 

All  went  well  until  Mulford,  tired  out,  lay  down  for  a  few 
winks.  In  that  interval  the  aunt,  Mrs.  Budd,  contrived,  out  of 
her  assumed  sea-knowledge,  to  loosen  the  painter  of  the  boat, 
while  a  brief  but  fierce  squall  capsized  the  schooner.  For  the 
time  she  was  kept  afloat  by  the  air  in  the  hold,  and  all  on  board 
managed  by  the  coolness  of  Mulford  to  get  on  the  keel.  But 
after  some  hours  he  perceived  that  the  air  was  escaping  and 
that  the  schooner  was  doomed  to  sink  under  them.  With  un- 
surpassed heroism  he  decided  to  swim  in  search  of  the  boat, 
which  was  drifting  to  the  reefs  a  mile  away.  Although  the 
water  swarmed  with  sharks,  there  was,  providentially,  but  one 
near  him,  and  that  monster  offered  no  harm,  being  perhaps 
already  full.  But  hardly  had  Mulford  got  into  shoal  water 
than  a  crowd  of  them  appeared,  but  too  late  to  seize  him. 

Facing  gravest  danger  in  crossing  a  narrow  inlet,  Mulford 
at  last  reached  the  boat,  which  had  drifted  ashore,  hoisted  the 
sail  and  got  to  the  schooner,  where  the  women  were  standing 
knee-deep  in  water  on  the  ship's  bottom,  with  the  sharks  swarm- 
ing about  them.     A  few  moments  more  and  not  one  of  the  party 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  409 

would  have  been  left  alive.  There  were  some  provisions  in 
the  boat,  and  in  that  frail  conveyance  they  now  hoped  to  reach 
Key  West  at  last,  when  the  brigantine  again  hove  in  sight, 
having  eluded  the  Poughkeepsie.  She  was  heading  for  her 
former  anchorage  to  recover  the  schooner,  when  Mulford  and 
his  companions  were  discovered.  Spike  immediately  landed. 
At  first  he  was  only  going  to  carry  off  Rose  by  main  violence. 
But  he  met  with  such  determined  resistance  from  Jack  Tier 
and  his  own  crew,  that  he  took  all  the  party  to  the  brig  except 
Mulford,  whom  he  forced  at  the  pistol's  mouth  to  remain  alone 
on  the  key  to  perish. 

The  Molly  Swash  was  soon  moored  in  her  old  berth,  with 
the  intention  of  looking  up  the  missing  schooner  the  next  day. 
Spike  was  ravenous  for  the  bag  of  doubloons.  That  regained, 
he  was  prepared  to  quit  this  region  for  good.  But  in  the  night 
Jack  Tier,  curiously  clinging  to  Spike,  but  determined  to  see 
no  one  sacrificed  to  his  cruelty,  greed,  and  hate,  contrived  with 
consummate  craft  and  skill,  and  by  winning  the  watch  on  deck, 
to  take  Rose  to  join  Mulford  and  to  remain  with  them  until  they 
could  be  out  of  danger. 

But  the  next  day  the  sloop-of-war  reappeared,  determined 
to  capture  or  destroy  the  brig;  but  first  a  boat  from  the  man- 
of-war  was  sent  to  reconnoiter,  and  accidentally  found  Mulford 
and  Rose.  With  the  party  was  the  ship's  chaplain  or  sky-pilot. 
By  the  advice  and  consent  of  all  he  married  Harry  Mulford  and 
Rose  Budd  and  they  were  taken  on  board  the  Poughkeepsie, 
Jack  Tier  in  the  mean  time  returning  slyly  to  the  brig;  and 
now  came  the  final  chase  and  struggle. 

After  the  two  ships  had  followed  the  intricate  channels  as 
far  as  possible,  the  man-of-war  sent  her  boats  in  pursuit.  Un- 
able to  get  his  long-boat  overboard,  Spike  took  to  his  small 
yawl.  He  had  planned  to  get  away  alone  with  the  boatswain, 
two  hands  and  Sehor  Montefaldcran.  But  while  he  was  vainly 
hunting  for  his  doubloons  below,  everyone  jumped  into  the 
boat,  which,  while  only  able  to  carry  eight  people  safely,  was 
loaded  below  the  danger  line  with  twenty.  The  wind  was  blow- 
ing hard,  the  sea  was  wild,  and  it  was  only  a  question  of  time 
when  the  yawl  would  be  swamped,  while  the  man-of-war's  boats, 
large   and   strong,   were   following  hard   and   gaining.     More 


4IO  JACK  TIER 

afraid  of  being  captured  than  drowned,  Spike  arranged  in  whis- 
pers with  the  boatswain  to  throw  overboard  everyone  else  with- 
out mercy  or  respect  of  persons,  whenever  the  boat  rolled  deeply 
to  one  side.  At  first  this  looked  accidental,  but  at  the  last  no 
attempt  was  made  to  conceal  Spike's  purpose.  Poor  Mrs. 
Budd,  Senor  Montefalderan,  and  the  rest  were  tossed  over. 
Jack  Tier,  the  last  to  go,  simply  arranged  his  clothes  and  coolly 
leaped  over  unaided.  But  he  could  swim,  and  floated  like  a 
cork  until  picked  up  by  one  of  the  Poughkeepsie's  boats,  which 
was  now  near  enough  to  fire  at  the  two  sole  survivors  in  the 
brigantine's  yawl.  The  boatswain  was  shot  through  the  head 
and  instantly  killed.  Spike  was  hit  by  a  ball  that  passed 
through  his  body,  a  wound  which,  after  several  days  of  lingering 
suffering,  proved  mortal. 

While  he  was  lying  on  his  death-bed  with  Jack  Tier  for  his 
nurse,  Jack  revealed  to  him  a  secret  he  had  already  confided  to 
the  ladies  in  the  cabin  of  the  brig.  It  is  not  likely  the  informa- 
tion thus  conveyed  added  to  the  comfort  of  Spike's  dying  hours. 
Jack  told  him  that  he  was  the  wife  he  had  abandoned  twenty 
years  before  when  his  love  began  to  cool.  Whether  her  pur- 
pose in  following  him  was  love  or  revenge  she  did  not  state;  it 
was  probably  a  mixture  of  both.  After  his  death  she  resumed 
woman's  clothing,  allowed  her  hair  to  grow,  and  gradually  lost 
some  of  the  roughness  of  complexion  brought  on  by  life  at  sea. 


THE   OAK   OPENINGS:   OR,  THE  BEE-HUNTER 

(1848) 

The  time  of  this  story  is  1812,  in  the  beginning  of  the  second  war  with 
Great  Britain.  The  scene  is  in  the  southwestern  part  of  the  great  peninsula 
which  is  now  the  State  of  Michigan,  on  the  little  Kalamazoo  river,  an  afHu- 
ent  of  Lake  Michigan.  All  this  region,  then  an  unpeopled  wilderness,  with  the 
exception  of  a  narrow  belt  along  the  Detroit  river,  is  what  is  called  a  "roll- 
ing" country,  from  some  fancied  resemblance  to  the  surface  of  the  ocean  when 
undulating  with  a  "ground-swell."  It  was  wooded  at  the  time  chiefly  with 
the  burr-oak,  a  small  variety  of  its  genus,  which,  growing  with  irregular  spaces 
between,  covered  with  verdure  and  flowers  and  often  of  singular  beauty,  formed 
what  were  called  "openings."  The  two  appellations  combined  give  this  form 
of  native  forest  the  name  "oak  openings." 


(EAR  the  close  of  July,  181 2,  four  men  met  in  an 
oak  opening  of  some  fifty  or  sixty  acres,  near 
the  Kalamazoo  river,  an  elbow  of  which  was 
just  visible  in  the  distance.  Two  of  these  were 
whites  and  two  Indians;  and  what  is  remarkable, 
all  were  strangers,  none  of  the  four  having  seen 
any  of  the  others  until  the  meeting  in  that  grassy 
glade,  though  somewhat  acquainted  through  their 
reputations.  Three  of  the  party  were  interested 
and  silent  observers  of  the  fourth,  known  as  a  bee-hunter. 
The  real  name  of  this  individual  was  Benjamin  Boden,  though 
he  was  extensively  known  throughout  the  northwest  as  Ben 
Buzz,  and  by  the  voyageurs  and  other  French  of  the  region  as 
Le  Bourdon,  or  "  the  drone,"  not  because  he  was  lazy,  but  be- 
cause he  lived  on  the  products  of  the  labor  of  others.  He  was 
the  most  skilful  and  most  prosperous  of  his  craft  in  that  region, 
and  many  of  the  families  on  the  banks  of  the  Detroit  never 
purchased  their  winter  supply  of  honey  until  the  arrival  in 
autumn  of  the  capacious  canoe  of  Buzz.  He  was  dressed  in 
the  ordinary  costume  of  the  American  rifleman — green,  with 
yellow  fringe,  a  skin  cap,  and  moccasins,  and  his  arms  were  of 
tlie  best. 

4" 


412  THE   OAK   OPENINGS 

The  second  white  was  a  different  person — tall,  sinewy, 
gaunt,  and  evidently  strong,  but  stooping  and  round-shouldered, 
and  with  a  face  that  would  have  done  credit  to  Bardolph.  In 
short,  whisky  had  dyed  the  countenance  of  Gershom  Waring 
with  a  telltale  hue  that  betrayed  his  destination  as  infallibly  as 
his  speech  indicated  his  New  England  origin.  Of  the  Indians 
Elksfoot,  a  Pottawattamie,  was  known  at  all  the  trading-houses 
and  "garrisons"  of  the  Northwest  Territory.  The  other  was  a 
young  Chippewa  or  Ojibway,  whose  name  among  his  own 
people  was  Pigeonswing,  so  called  from  the  length  and  rapidity 
of  his  flights,  he  having  a  reputation  as  a  messenger  or  "  runner." 

The  three  watched  Le  Bourdon's  movements,  as  he  tracked 
the  bees  to  their  hive  in  a  hollow  tree,  with  much  curiosity,  and 
were  greatly  surprised,  after  Gershom  had  felled  the  tree,  to 
find  in  it  so  large  a  store  of  honey  that  it  was  necessary  to  leave 
it  until  the  next  morning  for  removal,  the  bee-hunter  promising 
each  a  good  share.  Meanwhile  he  invited  the  strangers  to  the 
hospitalities  of  his  shanty,  a  cabin  on  the  banks  of  the  Kala- 
mazoo, in  a  beautiful  grove  of  burr-oak,  near  a  little  bay  of  the 
river,  in  which  his  canoe  found  secure  moorings.  This  was 
the  second  season  that  Le  Bourdon  had  occupied  "Castle 
Meal,"  as  he  himself  called  it,  a  corruption  of  Chateau  au 
Miel  ("  honey  "),  a  name  given  it  by  a  wag  of  a  voyageur,  who 
had  helped  him  build  it.  It  was  just  twelve  feet  square  in 
the  interior,  built  of  pine  logs,  and  had  a  single  entrance  and 
but  one  window,  both  strongly  secured  against  the  bears,  who 
have  an  intense  liking  for  honey. 

"  You  set  consid'rable  store  by  your  honey,  I  guess,  stranger," 
said  Gershom,  "  if  a  body  may  judge  by  the  care  you  take  of  it. 
We  an't  half  so  partic'lar  down  our  way,  Dolly  and  Blossom 
never  puttin'  up  so  much  as  a  bar  to  the  door,  even  when  I  sleep 
out." 

"Whereabouts  is  'down  our  way'?  "  asked  Le  Bourdon, 
unlocking  his  door. 

"Why,  down  at  Whisky  Center,  as  the  v'y'geurs  and  otlier 
boatmen  call  the  place." 

"xA.nd  where  is  Whisky  Center?"  demanded  Ben. 

*' Where  I  happen  to  live,  down  at  the  mouth  of  the  Kala- 
mazoo." 


JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER  413 

"And  pray  who  are  Dolly  and  Blossom;  I  hope  the  last  is 
not  a  whisky  blossom?" 

"Not  she;  she  never  touches  a  spoonful.  She  tries  hard  to 
reason  me  into  it  that  it  hurts  me;  but  that's  all  a  mistake,  as 
anybody  can  see  that  just  looks  at  me." 

Ben  did  look  at  him  and  came  to  a  different  conclusion. 

"Is  she  so  blooming  or  so  young  that  you  call  her  Blossom?" 

"The  gal's  a  little  of  both.  Dolly  is  my  wife,  and  Blossom 
is  my  sister.  Blossom's  real  name  is  Margery  Waring,  but 
everybody  calls  her  Blossom,  and  so  I  gi'n  in  to  it." 

Le  Bourdon  probably  lost  a  good  deal  of  his  interest  in  this 
flower  of  the  wilderness  as  soon  as  he  learned  of  her  near  rela- 
tionship to  Whisky  Center,  for  he  pursued  the  subject  no 
farther,  but  set  about  his  duties  of  hospitality. 

When  supper  was  finished,  and  the  party  had  seated  them- 
selves under  the  oaks  to  smoke  their  pipes,  Le  Bourdon  asked, 
after  waiting  a  decent  interval,  that  the  Indians  might  not 
think  him  possessed  of  feminine  curiosity,  if  there  were  any 
news. 

"Ask  my  young  brother,"  said  Elksfoot.  "He  know — he 
runner." 

Pigeonswing  seemed  to  be  little  more  communicative  than 
the  Pottawattamie,  but  after  smoking  several  minutes,  he  said: 

"Bad  summer  come  soon.  Palefaces  call  young  men  to- 
gether, and  dig  up  hatchet." 

"I  have  heard  something  of  this,"  answered  Le  Bourdon. 
"If  the  EngHsh  and  Americans  fight,  it  must  be  a  long  way 
from  here,  near  the  great  salt  lake." 

"Don't  know — nebber  know,  till  see.  English  warrior 
plenty  in  Canada." 

"I  do  not  think  the  British  will  attempt  Mackinaw,"  re- 
marked the  bee-hunter,  after  a  long  pause. 

"Got  him,  I  tell  you,"  answered  Pigeonswing. 

"Got  what,  Chippewa?" 

''Him — Mac-naw — got  fort — got  so'gers — got  whole  island. 
Know,  for  been  dere." 

This  was  astounding  news,  indeed.  To  Western  notions 
Micliilimackinac  was  another  Gibraltar,  though  really  of  little 
strength,  and  garrisoned  by  only  one  small  company. 


414  THE   OAK  OPENINGS 

On  the  next  morning  Le  Bourdon  was  the  first  up  and  out 
of  the  cabin.  As  he  stood  enjoying  the  beauties  of  the  scene, 
he  was  approached  noiselessly  by  Pigconswing,  who  said: 

"Come  fudder — Pottawattamie  got  long  car." 

Ben  led  the  way  to  the  spring,  where  the  two  made  their 
ablutions. 

"  Elkfoot  got  belt  from  Canada  Fadder,"  said  Pigconswing, 
alluding  to  the  British  propensity  to  keep  the  savages  in  pay. 
"  Knoti'  he  got  him — know  he  keep  him." 

"  And  you,  Pigconswing — by  your  talk  I  had  put  you  down 
for  a  King's  Injin,  too." 

"Talk  so — no  feel  bit  so.  My  heart  Yankee.  Take  care; 
Elkfoot  friend  of  Blackbird.  Got  medal  of  King,  too.  Have 
Yankee  by'm  by.     Take  care.     Speak  low  when  Elkfoot  near." 

"  You  wish  me  to  believe,  Chippewa,  that  you  are  a  friend  to 
America,  and  that  the  Pottawattamie  is  not.  What  is  your 
business  here?" 

"  Go  to  Chicago,  for  Gen'ral." 

"Where  is  this  General  you  speak  of?" 

"At  Detroit — got  whole  army  dere — warrior  plenty  as  oak 
in  opening.     Eat  Bri'sh  up!" 

"  Now,  redskin,  have  you  any  proof  of  what  you  say?" 

The  Indian  looked  carefully  around  him,  then  opened  his 
tobacco-pouch  and  took  from  the  center  of  the  cut  weed  a  let- 
ter rolled  into  the  smallest  compass  possible.  Unrolling  this, 
he  showed  the  address  to  "Captain  Heald,  U.  S.  Army,  com- 
manding at  Chicago."  In  one  corner  were  the  words,  "On 
public  service,  by  Pigconswing." 

"Dat  tell  trut' — b'lieve  him?"  asked  the  Chippewa. 

Le  Bourdon  gave  the  Indian's  hand  a  hearty  squeeze.  "I 
put  faith  in  all  you  say,  Chippewa.  Now,  as  to  the  Pottawat- 
tamie, which  way  do  you  think  he  is  traveling?" 

"  Guess  on  path  to  Blackbird.  Blackbird  on  war-path — 
go  to  Chicago." 

After  breakfast  the  Pottawattamie  gave  a  hand  to  each  and 
departed.  Shortly  afterward  Pigconswing  also  set  out,  saying: 
"  By'm  by  come  back  and  eat  more  honey — no  Canada  here — 
all  Yankee." 

The  next  day  Gershom  aided  Le  Bourdon  in  securing  the 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  415 

honey  from  the  felled  tree.  "I  believe  this  must  be  the  last 
hive  I  line  this  summer,"  said  the  bee-hunter.  "In  troublous 
times  one  should  not  be  too  far  from  home.  I  am  surprised, 
Waring,  that  you  have  ventured  away  from  your  family  while 
the  tidings  are  so  gloomy.  I  intend  to  close  up  and  return  to  the 
settlements  before  the  redskins  break  loose.  If  you  will  lend 
a  hand  to  embark  the  honey  and  stores,  you  shall  be  well 
paid." 

"Waal,  I'd  about  as  lief  do  that  as  anything  else.  I  come 
up  here  thinkin'  to  meet  you,  for  I  heer'n  tell  you  was  a-beein' 
it,  and  there's  nawthin'  Dolly  takes  to  with  greater  relish  than 
good  wild  honey." 

On  the  following  morning,  after  loading  the  canoe  ready  to 
depart,  the  two  went  into  the  woods  about  three  miles  to  bring 
in  the  remains  of  a  buck  Le  Bourdon  had  killed  and  hung  up. 
Hive,  the  bee-hunter's  mastiff,  accompanied  them.  When  near 
the  place  where  the  deer  had  been  left,  the  dog  acted  so  singu- 
larly as  to  attract  attention. 

Suddenly  Gershom  exclaimed:  "Yonder  is  an  Injin,  seated 
at  the  foot  of  that  oak.  The  critter  is  asleep — he  can't  have 
much  dread  of  wolves  or  bears!" 

"I  see  him,"  answered  Le  Bourdon,  "and  am  as  much  sur- 
prised as  grieved  to  find  him  there.  The  man  is  dead.  See 
there  is  blood  on  the  side  of  his  head,  and  a  rifle-bullet  has  left 
its  hole  there." 

The  bee-hunter  raised  a  sort  of  shawl  thrown  over  his  head 
and  exposed  the  features  of  Elksfoot,  who  had  left  them  but  a 
little  more  than  twenty-four  hours  before.  That  Pigeonswing 
had  slain  and  scalped  his  late  fellow-guest  Le  Bourdon  had  no 
doubt,  and  he  sickened  at  the  thought. 

On  the  evening  of  the  third  day  of  navigation  the  two 
reached  Whisky  Center  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  found 
everything  as  Waring  had  left  it.  Waring  landed  at  a  point 
projecting  into  the  river,  where  Dolly  awaited  him  with  joyful 
tears.  Le  Bourdon  sought  Blossom,  whom  he  found  to  be  a 
charming  girl  with  blue  eyes,  golden  hair,  and  a  clear,  trans- 
parent complexion. 

"You  are  then  my  brother's  friend,"  said  Margery,  taking 
the  hand  he  offered  her.     "We  are  so  glad  he  has  come  back. 


4i6  THE   OAK   OPENINGS 

We  have  passed  five  terrible  nights,  believing  every  bush  a  red- 
man." 

"That  danger  is  over  now,"  said  Le  Bourdon,  "but  there  is 
still  an  enemy  to  overcome." 

"An  enemy!" 

"His  name  is  Whisky.  Show  me  the  place  where  he  is 
kept,  that  I  may  destroy  him." 

"Dare  you?"  asked  Margery,  pointing  toward  her  brother, 
her  face  becoming  scarlet  and  then  pale  as  death.  "  It  is  under 
the  shed,  behind  the  hut." 

Le  Bourdon  did  not  hesitate,  but  ran  to  the  shed  and  rolled 
both  barrels  down  the  declivity  on  the  rocks  below,  where  they 
were  dashed  into  pieces,  the  hoops  and  staves  going  down  the 
stream  into  the  lake. 

"That  job  is  well  done!"  he  said,  returning  to  the  cabin. 

"God  be  praised!"  said  Margery.  "You  have  been  sent 
by  Providence  to  do  us  this  good." 

Shortly  after  Gershom  and  his  wife  entered.  Dolly  was  not 
so  beautiful  as  her  sister-in-law,  but  was  still  a  comely  woman, 
though  showing  signs  of  sorrow, 

Dolly  said  that  three  canoe-loads  of  Indians  had  passed 
that  afternoon,  going  up  the  lake;  but,  as  the  fire  was  out,  they 
probably  thought  the  hut  was  vacant.  Later,  the  wind  rose, 
and  the  canoes  were  seen  coming  back.  Le  Bourdon  suggested 
that  the  cabin  should  be  dismantled  and  that  they  should  take 
refuge  in  the  canoes,  which  were  hidden  in  a  thicket  of  the  wild- 
rice  plant.  This  was  done  at  once,  all  the  movables  being  car- 
ried from  the  cabin  back  into  the  woods  and  concealed.  When 
Waring  looked  for  his  whisky  Le  Bourdon  explained  that,  fore- 
seeing the  danger  of  the  savages  getting  it,  he  had  rolled  the 
casks  down  the  hill. 

The  Indians  returned  at  night  and  set  up  a  shout  when  they 
found  the  deserted  shanty,  about  which  they  gathered  and 
built  a  fire.  Le  Bourdon  counted  twenty-one  by  the  light  of  the 
fire,  and  noted  that  they  had  a  prisoner  whom  they  bound  to  a 
tree.  By  the  use  of  his  spy-glass  he  recognized  the  captive  as 
Pigeonswing. 

Le  Bourdon  at  once  announced  his  intention  to  attempt  the 
rescue  of  his  friend.     This  he  succeeded  in  doing  that  night. 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  417 

with  the  aid  of  INIargery,  who  guided  them  through  the  swamp 
behind  by  means  of  a  dark  lantern.  When  they  reached  the 
canoes  Waring  was  found  in  a  drimken  sleep,  having  found  the 
bee-hunter's  jug  of  brandy.  Le  Bourdon  emptied  the  rest  of  the 
contents  into  the  river,  to  the  great  relief  of  the  women,  and, 
with  the  aid  of  Pigeonswing,  paddled  the  canoes  out  into  the 
stream.  At  the  suggestion  of  the  Chippewa,  they  went  around 
to  where  the  Indians  had  landed  and  secured  their  four  canoes, 
which  they  towed  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  river. 

On  the  next  day  a  canoe  was  seen  coming  in  from  the  lake, 
and  the  savages  on  the  north  shore  began  making  signals  to  it. 
To  counteract  their  designs,  Le  Bourdon  ran  down  to  the  shore 
and  invited  the  strangers  to  land  where  he  was.  A  gesture  of 
assent  was  made  and  the  canoe,  containing  two  whites  and  an 
Indian,  came  to  shore. 

The  foremost  to  land,  a  soldier  in  a  United  States  uniform, 
said: 

"We  are  traveling  toward  Mackinaw,  and  hope  to  fare  as 
friends  while  in  your  company." 

"Do  you  expect  to  find  at  Mackinaw  an  American  or  an 
English  garrison?" 

"One  of  our  own,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  soldier,  as  if  struck 
by  the  question. 

"  Mackinaw  has  fallen,  and  is  now  an  English  post,  as  well 
as  Chicago." 

"Then  we  must  alter  our  plans,  Mr.  Amen,"  said  the  sol- 
dier, addressing  the  other  white  man,  whose  costume  proclaimed 
him  a  missionary. 

"You  are  right,  corporal.  I  see  no  better  course  to  pursue 
than  to  put  ourselves  altogether  in  the  hands  of  Onoah." 

Le  Bourdon  was  astounded.  Onoah  was  the  Indian  name 
of  a  dreaded  savage  called  by  the  English  Scalping  Peter  or 
Pete.  He  was  simply  dressed  in  a  cotton  hunting-shirt,  with 
a  wampum  belt  in  which  were  his  knife  and  tomahawk,  and 
wore  a  single  eagle's  feather  attached  to  his  scalp-lock. 

"Sago,  sago!"  said  Peter.  "Sago  all,  ole  and  young,  friend 
come  to  see  you — eat  in  your  wigwam — which  head-chief,  eh?" 

"We  have  neither  wigwam  nor  chief  here,"  answered  Le 
Bourdon.     "I  left  my  wigwam,  up  the  Kalamazoo,  last  week, 

A.D.^  VOL.  v. — 27 


4i8  THE   OAK   OPENINGS 

and  came  to  the  hut  on  the  other  shore  when  the  Pottawatta- 
mics  drove  us  over  here." 

"Know  dem  Pottawattamies,"  said  the  Indian.  "Can  tell 
'cm  great  way  off." 

"We  fear  them,  having  women  in  our  party,"  said  Le  Bour- 
don. 

"You  Yankee — dey  Bri'sh.  Muss  cross  over — else  Potta- 
wattamie think  it  strange — yes,  muss  cross  over," 

"Yet  they  are  Injins  of  the  British,  and  I  see  you  in  com- 
pany with  a  soldier  of  Uncle  Sam." 

"  Onoah  go  where  he  please — sometime  to  Pottawattamie — 
sometime  to  Iroquois.  All  O  jib  ways  know  Onoah.  All  Six 
Nation  know  him.  All  Injin  know  him.  Muss  cross  river 
and  shake  hand  with  Crowsfeather." 

"You  can  trust  to  Peter,  friend  bee-hunter,"  the  missionary 
said,  drawing  Le  Bourdon  aside.  "  I  know  him  well,  and  what 
he  promises  he  will  perform.     He  is  to  be  depended  on." 

Peter  crossed  over  and  had  a  talk  with  the  Pottawattamies. 
On  his  return,  he  informed  his  new  friends  that  he  had  prom- 
ised them  that  their  canoes  should  be  returned.  He  pointed  out 
to  Le  Bourdon  that  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  go  south  on  the 
lake,  as  the  troops  had  left  Chicago  and  the  fort  was  destroyed ; 
and  suggested  that  the  best  thing  to  be  done  was  to  return  to 
oak  openings.  Le  Bourdon  took  his  advice,  cached  his  honey, 
and  loading  the  canoes  with  Gershom's  household  effects,  as- 
cended the  river  again  to  "  Castle  Meal,"  where  everything  was 
found  as  he  had  left  it.  The  following  week  was  one  of  very 
active  labor.  Le  Bourdon's  shanty  was  given  to  the  women 
and  a  new  one  was  constructed  hard  by  for  the  others.  Cor- 
poral Flint  insisted,  after  it  was  finished,  that  a  palisade  should 
be  built;  and  though  the  bee-hunter  objected  to  this  as  a  waste 
of  time,  Castle  Meal  was  finally  surrounded  with  a  strong  picket. 

One  night  the  bee-hunter  and  the  corporal  went  into  the 
forest,  attracted  by  the  peculiar  actions  of  Hive,  the  mastiff, 
who  led  them  on  until  they  came  in  sight  of  a  fire  around  which 
were  seated  about  fifty  Indians  in  war-paint.  Finding  a  copse 
where  they  could  conceal  themselves,  they  patiently  watched  the 
proceedings  at  the  council  fire.  The  savages  kept  perfectly 
quiet,  apparently  awaiting  an  arrival.     No  one  spoke,  coughed, 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  419 

laughed,  or  exclaimed  for  half  an  hour.  At  last  all  faces  turned 
in  one  direction,  and  two  persons  came  out  of  the  obscurity 
into  the  firelight,  whom  Le  Bourdon  at  once  recognized  as 
Peter  and  Parson  Amen,  Peter,  who  was  evidently  expected, 
looked  unmoved  on  the  scene,  but  the  minister  appeared  be- 
wildered by  what  he  saw. 

Le  Bourdon  and  the  corporal  listened  to  long  harangues  by 
Peter  and  other  of  the  chiefs,  and  lastly  to  a  talk  by  Parson 
Amen,  who  tried  to  impress  upon  his  hearers  the  truths  of 
Christianity,  as  well  as  his  own  belief  that  the  red  men  were 
the  descendants  of  the  ten  lost  tribes  of  Israel.  Wliile  the  coun- 
cil was  in  progress  a  runner  brought  news  of  the  capture  of 
Detroit,  the  most  important  post  held  by  the  Americans  along 
the  line  of  the  great  lakes. 

When  Le  Bourdon  returned  home,  Pigeonswing  tried  to 
persuade  him  to  go  back  to  the  settlements.  "Dis  bad  place 
for  paleface  nov^-.  Better  go  home.  Bess  go  soon  as  can; 
and  bess  go  alone.  No  good  to  be  troubled  wid  squaw,  when 
in  hurry." 

"I  understand  you,  Chippewa,"  he  said,  "but  I  shall  do 
nothing  of  the  sort.  If  the  squaws  can't  go,  too,  I  shall  not 
quit  them.  Why  can't  we  all  get  into  the  canoe,  and  go  down- 
stream, when  another  night  sets  in?  Before  morning  we  could 
be  twenty  miles  on  our  road." 

"If  can't  go  alone,  can't  go  at  all,"  said  Pigeonswing.  ''  No 
good  to  try  canoe.     Catch  you  in  two  day — p'raps  one." 

In  the  morning  when  Le  Bourdon  went  to  the  spring  he  mxt 
Peter  returning  from  the  council. 

"  My  brother  wanted  to-day  to  show  Injin  how  to  find  honey," 
said  Peter. 

"I  am  very  willing  to  teach  the  chiefs  my  craft,"  replied  the 
bee-hunter,  "  because  I  do  not  expect  to  practise  it  much  longer 
— at  least  not  in  this  part  of  the  country." 

"Expec'  go  away  soon?"  asked  Peter.  "Now  Bri'sh  got 
Detroit,  where  my  broder  go?     Bess  stay  here,  I  t'ink." 

Le  Bourdon  gave  an  exhibition  the  following  day  to  the 
assembled  chiefs  of  his  skill  in  bee-lining  and  in  finding  honey. 
With  the  aid  of  his  spy  glass  and  the  sagacity  of  his  dog  he 
showed  them  where  to  find  bears,  and  disclosed  the  hiding- 


420  THE   OAK   OPENINGS 

place  of  several  hundred  Indian  warriors,  who  were  quietly 
awaiting  the  results  of  the  council,  thus  taking  all  by  surprise 
and  winning  the  reputation  of  a  great  medicine-man. 

For  some  reason  best  known  to  himself,  Peter  tried  to  in- 
duce the  minister  to  bring  about  an  immediate  marriage  be- 
tween Le  Bourdon  and  Margery,  who  were  now  so  well 
acquainted  as  to  feel  little  reserve  on  the  subject. 

"I  do  not  understand  your  motive,  Peter,"  said  the  parson, 
"but  what  you  ask  is  wise  and  according  to  God's  law,  and  it 
shall  be  done." 

The  truth  was  that  Peter  had  promised  the  scalps  of  the 
entire  party  of  whites,  but  was  willing  that  Le  Bourdon  should 
escape,  provided  Margery  also  could  go  unharmed.  Margery 
was  easily  persuaded,  as  she  had  learned  to  love  and  to  respect 
the  bee-hunter;  and  the  two  made  their  vows  at  once  before  the 
minister. 

But  on  the  following  day  another  council  was  held,  and  it 
was  unanimously  decided  that  all  the  whites  in  the  openings 
should  die.  Peter,  after  offering  various  objections,  assented, 
and  by  way  of  closing  the  debate,  said: 

"Brothers,  I  have  not  seen  straight.  I  have  been  in  a  fog. 
I  now  see  clearly.  I  see  that  bee-hunters  ought  not  to  live. 
Let  this  one  die;  let  his  squaw  die,  too!" 

In  thus  acquiescing,  Peter  was  quite  sincere.  He  only  asked 
the  power  of  directing  the  details  of  the  contemplated  massacre. 
By  some  means  Pigeonswing  became  aware  that  a  crisis  was  at 
hand,  though  he  had  not  been  present  at  the  council,  and  he 
told  the  bee-hunter  that  it  was  now  a  question  of  Peter's  scalp 
or  his  own. 

"You  look  hard  at  Peter  when  he  come  in.  If  he  t'ink 
good  deal,  and  don't  say  much  when  he  do  speak,  mind  what  he 
say.     If  he  smile,  and  very  much  friend,  must  hab  his  scalp." 

"Chippewa,  Peter  is  my  friend,  lives  in  my  cabin,  and  eats 
of  my  bread.     The  hand  that  touches  him  touches  me." 

"Which  bess — his  scalp  or  your'n?  If  he  very  much  friend 
when  he  come  in,  his  scalp  muss  come  off  or  your'n.  Know 
Injin  better  dan  you  know  him.  If  Peter  don't  smile,  but  look 
down,  and  t'ink,  t'ink,  den  he  mean  no  hurt,  but  try  to  get  you 
out  of  hand  of  chiefs." 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  421 

Struck  by  the  words  and  the  manner  of  Pigeonswing,  Le 
Bourdon  watched  Peter  closely  when  he  came  in,  and  noted  his 
thoughtful  eye  and  melancholy  manner.  Margery  gave  the 
Indian  food,  and  he  sat  and  ate  without  speaking,  as  if  op- 
pressed with  some  great  grief.  When  he  had  finished  he  drew 
Le  Bourdon  aside  and  told  him  plainly  the  result  of  the  council, 
which  had  condemned  all  the  whites  to  death. 

"My  wish  is  to  cut  off  all  the  palefaces.  This  must  be 
done,  or  the  palefaces  will  cut  off  the  Indians.  There  is  no 
choice.  I  do  not  understand  a  religion  that  tells  us  to  love  our 
enemies.  But  I  understand  that  we  ought  to  love  our  friends. 
I  have  called  your  squaw  daughter,  and  my  tongue  is  not  forked 
like  a  snake's.  Once  I  meant  to  scalp  her;  but  now  I  do  not. 
My  hand  shall  never  harm  her,  and  my  wisdom  shall  tell  her 
how  to  escape  from  the  red  men  who  seek  her  scalp.  You,  too, 
now  you  are  her  husband,  and  are  a  great  medicine-man  of  the 
bees — my  hand  shall  not  hurt  you  either." 

Peter  then  told  of  his  attempts  to  secure  from  the  council  a 
safe  passage  to  the  settlements  for  Le  Bourdon  and  Margery, 
and  of  its  total  failure.  But  what  shocked  the  bee-hunter  most 
of  all  was  the  Indian's  naive  confession  that  he  himself  had  no 
wish  to  save  any  but  Le  Bourdon  and  Margery. 

As  if  his  task  were  done,  the  chief  now  coolly  arose,  went  to 
a  little  grove  where  the  missionary  and  the  corporal  were  lying 
on  the  grass,  and  invited  them  to  go  to  see  the  chiefs  once  more. 
The  parson  assented  cheerfully,  saying  he  would  like  one  more 
opportunity  of  speaking  the  truth  to  them.  The  corporal  held 
back,  but  the  missionary  said  gladly:  "Lead  on,  Peter,  and  we 
will  follow." 

The  corporal,  ashamed  to  oppose  so  confident  an  enthusiasm 
as  the  minister  displayed,  followed  Parson  Amen  in  Peter's 
footsteps.  The  Indian  led  them  about  two  miles  away  until 
they  came  to  an  open  glade  where  they  found  two  or  three  hun- 
dred red  men  assembled. 

"There,"  said  Peter  sternly,  "there  are  your  captives.  Do 
with  them  as  you  will.  As  for  them  that  have  dared  to  ques- 
tion my  faith,  let  them  own  that  they  are  liars!" 

Parson  Amen,  time  having  been  given  him  to  make  a  short 
address  and  to  pray  for  his  enemies,  met  his  fate  like  a  Chris- 


422  THE   OAK   OPENINGS 

tian;  but  the  corporal  found  an  opportunity  to  brain  one  of  the 
chiefs  before  he  was  put  to  death.  The  disposition  of  two  of 
their  enemies  only  increased  the  thirst  of  the  savages  for  blood, 
and  a  demand  was  made  for  Peter;  but  Peter  could  not  be  found. 
It  was  suggested  that  he  had  gone  to  the  palisaded  hut  for  more 
scalps,  and  that  all  ought  to  go  thither  to  aid  him.  In  half  an 
hour  the  whole  band  collected  around  "Castle  Meal,"  but  out  of 
reach  of  rifle-shots.  Everything  seemed  closed,  but  no  de- 
fenders were  visible.  All  they  heard  was  the  howling  of  Hive. 
After  a  long  consultation,  it  was  determined  to  fire  the  build- 
ings. Several  braves  undertook  this  and  succeeded  in  lighting 
the  roof.  "  Castle  Meal "  was  soon  in  a  blaze;  the  dog  was  shot, 
and  a  general  rush  was  made  for  the  palisade.  To  the  surprise 
of  all,  the  gate  was  found  unlocked;  and  then  the  truth  flashed 
on  the  minds  of  the  savages:  Le  Bourdon  and  his  friends  had 
escaped. 

With  the  aid  of  Peter  and  Pigeonswing,  the  party,  in  three 
canoes,  first  went  up  the  river,  to  deceive  the  savages;  and  then, 
lying  hidden  by  day,  succeeded  in  getting  out  of  the  river  by 
night.  They  followed  the  shores  of  Lake  Michigan  to  the 
Straits  of  Mackinac,  thence  into  Huron  and  through  the  St. 
Clair  River  and  Lake  and  Detroit  River  into  Lake  Erie,  reach- 
ing Presque  Isle  in  safety. 


THE   SEA  LIONS   (1849) 

No  one  of  Cooper's  talcs  of  adventure  has  been  more  popular  whh  young 
and  older  readers  than  this  romance  of  hidden  treasure  and  the  perils  of  the 


ocean. 


BEACON  PRATT  was  one  of  the  most  promi- 
nent residents  of  the  township  of  Oyster  Pond,  or 
Pund,  as  the  people  pronounced  it.  This  scat- 
tered fishing  and  farming  settlement  was  on  the 
shore  of  the  southernmost  of  the  two  lobsterlike 
prongs  which  extend  seaward  at  the  eastern  end 
of  Long  Island,  and  form  the  entrance  to  Peconic 
Bay  and  the  famous  whaling  port  of  Sag  Harbor. 
In  the  early  part  of  the  last  century  the  bay  was 
redolent  of  the  fragrance  of  fish-oil,  and  the  people  were  busy 
at  once  with  farming  and  whaling. 

The  deacon  was  prominent,  not  so  much  for  his  piety,  which 
was,  perhaps,  not  quite  up  to  par  as  deacons  go,  as  for  his 
possessions,  chiefly  in  farmsteads,  which  were  ample,  as  things 
went  in  those  days  in  that  part  of  the  country.  He  was  not 
exactly  immoral  or  dishonest,  but  he  was  very  close,  not  only 
in  keeping  a  tight  mantle  as  to  his  affairs,  but  in  holding  fast 
to  what  he  had  and  in  thinking  far  more  of  laying  up  treas- 
ure on  earth  than  in  heaven.  In  one  and  only  one  way  he 
showed  a  certain  evidence  that  he  was  not  utterly  without 
bowels  of  mercy  or  kindness.  He  had  adopted  the  daughter 
of  his  late  brother.  Mary  Pratt  lived  with  him  and  received 
as  much  paternal  and  unvarying  kindness  as  he  was  capable 
of  bestowing.  She  was  a  sweet  girl,  with  all  the  resolute  qual- 
ities of  her  uncle,  and  all  the  noble  traits  in  which  he  was  lack- 
ing.    His  wife  was  dead. 

There  was  a  third  individual  of  that  neighborhood  who  was 
willing  and  anxious  to  become  a  member  of  this  family  of  two. 

423 


424  THE   SEA  LIONS 

This  was  young  Skipper  Roswcll  Gardiner,  pronounced  Gar'ner 
in  those  parts.  He  was  newly  appointed  captain  of  the  schooner 
Sea  Lion,  owned  by  Deacon  Pratt  and  about  to  sail  on  an 
important  expedition.  Mary  had  shown  no  aversion  to  the 
gallant  and  handsome  sailor,  and  it  was  therefore  quite  natural 
that  he  should  entertain  this  ambition.  The  deacon  also  was 
willing.  Though  everything  seemed  to  prosper  these  wishes 
and  hopes,  their  fruition  was  delayed  by  two  serious  obstacles. 
The  first  was  that  the  deacon  was  now  much  too  busy  to  give 
attention  to  affairs  matrimonial.  The  other  was  more  serious, 
since  Mary's  religious  convictions  were,  like  those  of  her 
New  England  ancestry,  so  firm  that  arguments  and  plead- 
ings had  no  more  effect  on  them  than  the  foam  of  the  ocean 
surge  upon  a  granite  shore.  She  loved  him;  that  was  under- 
stood. But  she  was  an  orthodox  Presbyterian,  a  firm  believer 
in  the  divinity  of  Christ.  Roswell,  on  the  other  hand,  while 
combining  more  principle  and  attractiveness  than  commonly 
distinguishes  a  seafaring  man,  was  tainted  with  the  heresy  of 
Unitarianism.  Hence,  such  was  her  ideal  standard  of  marriage, 
she  could  not  conscientiously  unite  with  him  in  the  holy  bonds 
of  matrimony.  And  thus  he  had  to  go  on  this  perilous  voyage 
still  a  bachelor. 

What  were  the  facts  that  led  Deacon  Pratt  to  begin  an  enter- 
prise of  a  nature  so  entirely  new  to  one  accustomed  to  deal 
more  with  farms  than  with  ships?  The  reply  to  this  question 
is  as  follows:  A  ship  bound  to  New  York  from  a  long  voyage 
put  in  at  Oyster  Pond  and  landed  a  middle-aged  sailor  in  the 
last  stages  of  consumption.  He  was  taken  to  the  house  of 
Widow  White,  where  he  was  frugally  cared  for,  according  to 
his  scant  -means,  until  his  death.  The  deacon  soon  heard  of 
this  stranger  and  naturally  visited  him.  With  true  Yankee 
curiosity  he  soon  picked  up  enough  information  to  lead  him  to 
want  more,  especially  as  it  was  his  native  cupidity  that  was 
most  attracted. 

The  name  of  the  stranger  was  Daggett.  He  came  originally 
from  Martha's  Vineyard,  where  natives  of  that  name  abound. 
But  he  had  been  away  from  his  island  home  for  nearly  fifty 
years,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  disposition  to  send  word  to  his 
family,  if  any  remained,  across  a  stretch  of  water  one  hundred 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  425 

miles  wide.  Daggett's  mind  was  burdened  with  two  secrets 
which  so  dwelt  in  his  thoughts  that  it  required  but  little  coaxing 
on  the  deacon's  part  to  draw  them  out.  The  deacon's  curiosity 
was  kindled  to  the  last  degree,  and  he  passed  a  good  part  of  his 
time  at  the  bedside  of  the  dying  man  with  a  hope  of  gaining 
every  point  of  information  on  the  secrets,  closing  the  door  of 
the  sick  man's  room  to  prevent  listeners.  Mrs.  White,  made 
only  more  curious  on  this  account,  passed  her  time,  also,  in 
listening  at  a  crack  in  the  partition.  But  what  she  heard  was 
only  disjointed  fragments  of  the  conversation. 

The  deacon  learned  of  a  group  of  small  islands  in  very 
high  southern  latitudes,  not  down  on  the  charts  then  and  en- 
tirely unknown  to  all  but  Daggett  and  perhaps  one  or  two  sur- 
vivors of  the  ship  which  had  taken  him  there.  One  of  those 
bleak,  ice-bound  isles  abounded  with  seals  so  tame  that  they 
could  be  readily  approached;  and  hence  in  a  few  days  a  ship 
could  fill  up  with  their  valuable  skins,  winning  immense  gain. 
Another  revelation  wrung  from  Daggett  was  about  a  great 
treasure  hidden  by  pirates  on  a  key  in  the  West  Indies.  But 
having  learned  this  much,  the  deacon  found  it  impossible  to 
get  Daggett  to  divulge  the  exact  latitude  and  longitude  where 
lay  these  two  sources  of  wealth.  So  sure,  however,  did  he  feel 
that  Daggett  would  not  die  without  divulging  that  secret  that 
he  rather  imprudently  purchased  a  schooner  called  the  Sea 
Lion,  just  launched  and  nearly  completed.  Roswell  Gardiner 
was  engaged  as  skipper,  with  injunctions  of  secrecy. 

Contrary  to  expectation,  Daggett  died  without  revealing  the 
secret.  There  was  one  hope  left.  Daggett  made  no  disposition 
of  his  sea-chest;  and  on  the  ground  that  no  one  had  a  better 
right  to  it  than  he.  Deacon  Pratt  took  it  and  examined  the  con- 
tents. It  contained  nothing  of  value  except  two  well-worn 
charts.  But  those  were  enough.  Written  in  pencil  on  each 
one  was  the  important  information  that  the  deacon  desired. 
But,  aware  that  heirs  might  turn  up  to  claim  these  effects,  he 
wrote  these  very  important  data  on  a  separate  piece  of  paper, 
which  he  placed  in  a  pockctbook  worn  next  to  his  person.  He 
then  proceeded  to  efface  the  figures  on  the  charts  and  slightly 
stained  the  white  spots  left  by  the  effacer.  The  charts  were 
then  replaced  in  the  chest. 


426  THE   SEA  LIONS 

The  work  of  completing  the  Sea  Lion  and  procuring  a  com- 
petent crew  went  on  apace.  But  before  all  was  ready  a  Captain 
Daggett,  of  Martha's  Vineyard,  claiming  to  be  a  brother  of  the 
deceased  mariner,  appeared  on  the  scene  and  gave  the  deacon 
an  unpleasant  quarter  of  an  hour.  He  was  invited  to  dine,  and 
after  that  opened  the  chest.  He  seemed  especially  anxious  to 
see  whatever  charts  his  brother  might  have  left,  remarking  that 
the  notes  about  their  observations  left  by  navigators  on  their 
charts,  which  belonged  to  them  exclusively,  were  often  of  great 
value.  But  on  examining  his  brother's  charts  the  Captain  was 
greatly  disappointed.  He  detected  the  marks  of  the  deacon's 
tampering  and  showed  suspicion,  particularly  as  he  had  learned 
of  the  purchase  of  the  Sea  Limi.  But  as  there  were  no  witnesses 
he  could  do  nothing  more  than  get  into  his  sailboat  with  the 
chest  and  charts  and  return  to  the  Vineyard.  Evidently  further 
information  had  been  gained,  perhaps  from  the  crew  of  the 
vessel  that  had  brought  the  deceased  man  to  Oyster  Pond; 
for  news  came  that  Captain  Daggett  and  his  neighbors  were 
exerting  every  nerve  to  complete  a  schooner  of  dimensions 
similar  to  those  of  the  Sea  Lion,  and  actually  giving  her  the 
same  name  and  a  similar  figurehead. 

Spies  were  also  detected  passing  to  and  fro  and  conveying 
information  about  the  Oyster  Pond  schooner  and  her  mys- 
terious voyage.  It  was  also  learned  that  she  was  detained  by 
the  efforts  of  the  Vineyard  men  to  prevent  her  from  obtaining 
men  at  New  London  and  alongshore.  It  was  evident  that 
Captain  Daggett  must  have  picked  up  considerable  information; 
but  still  lacking  the  all-essential  data  that  Deacon  Pratt  had 
stolen,  was  determined  to  force  his  schooner  on  the  company 
of  the  deacon's  boat,  thus  either  preventing  the  success  of  her 
cruise  or  compelling  equal  sharing  with  the  alternative  of  a  fight. 

Undeterred,  however,  by  the  evidence  that  he  had  a  deter- 
mined enemy  and  rival  to  contend  with,  the  deacon  completed 
his  preparations,  leaving  it  to  Captain  Gardiner  to  escape  Dag- 
gett in  such  way  as  he  might  find  feasible.  The  day  before  sail- 
ing Roswell  was  taken  into  the  deacon's  private  room  and 
forced  to  take  a  solemn  oath  not  to  divulge  to  a  living  soul  the 
information  as  to  his  course,  which  the  deacon  then  proceeded 
to  disclose  to  him. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  427 

The  parting  of  Roswell  and  Mary  was  appropriately  sol- 
emn. She  knew  or  suspected  enough  to  be  aware  that  he  was 
about  to  undertake  a  voyage  of  great  and  unusual  peril.  But 
even  at  the  most  tender  moments,  when  she  yielded  to  the  most 
earnest  expressions  of  affection,  she  emphasized  the  fact  that 
their  ultimate  union  was  conditioned  on  his  acceptance  of  the 
orthodox  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  It  cannot  be  said  that  the 
outlook  for  the  success  of  Roswell's  hopes  was  by  any  means 
satisfactory. 

Ever)^thing  being  ready  at  last,  the  Sea  Lion  of  Oyster 
Pond  put  to  sea  around  Montauk  Point  and  between  that  and 
Martha's  Vineyard.  Everything  seemed  clear  all  around  the 
ofhng,  and  Roswell  hoped  the  fear  of  meeting  or  being  followed 
by  the  rival  schooner  was  groundless.  But  when  the  sun  was 
well  up  a  sail  was  made  out  quite  away  from  the  track  of  craft 
bound  south  from  the  Vineyard,  and  yet  evidently  the  Vineyard 
Sea  Lion.  She  slightly  outsailed  the  other  Sea  Lion ;  and  there- 
fore it  was  useless  to  try  to  avoid  her  at  that  time. 

Captain  Daggett  was  in  command,  and  when  hailing  his 
competitor  made  it  distinctly  apparent  that  he  purposed  the 
two  ships  should  sail  together.  Thus  at  the  very  outset  of  his 
voyage  Roswell  Gardiner  saw  that  his  difficulties  had  already 
begun;  for  it  was  evident  that  Daggett  was  resolved  that,  if 
there  were  any  secret  in  the  movements  of  the  Oyster  Pond 
boat,  he  would  share  in  or  neutralize  its  advantages  either  by 
finesse  or  by  force.  Although  a  fine,  daring,  experienced,  reso- 
lute seaman,  Roswell  was  no  match  in  other  respects  for  Dag- 
gett, being  too  credulous,  simple  and  undesigning  to  compete 
with  such  a  man.  A  heavy  gale  sprang  up  when  the  two 
schooners  had  been  out  two  or  three  days,  which  pressed  them 
in  toward  the  Carolina  coast.  Roswell  was  for  getting  on  the 
other  tack  and  thus  working  clear  of  that  dangerous  coast. 
But  as  long  as  Daggett  kept  to  that  course,  his  pride  restrained 
him  from  an  appearance  of  overcaution.  This  was  an  evidence 
of  weakness  which  a  thoroughly  strong  character  would  have 
resisted.  The  result  was  that  both  vessels  barely  escaped  dis- 
aster from  a  sudden  shift  of  the  wind.  But  Roswell's  boat  lost 
a  mast  and  both  vessels  went  into  Beaufort,  the  one  to  repair, 
and  the  other,  apparently  generous,  to  aid  its  consort.     It  wa#: 


428  THE   SEA  LIONS 

in  vain  that  Gardiner  urged  Daggett  not  to  wait  for  him,  but 
to  keep  right  on  with  his  voyage. 

After  they  set  sail  again  they  met  a  school  of  whales.  The 
weather  being  favorable,  both  schooners  sent  out  their  boats. 
That  of  the  Vineyard  Lion  struck  a  small  whale;  Roswell's  boat 
took  a  similar  one,  and  then  struck  a  very  large  one  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty  barrels.  Roswell  being  more  active  and 
experienced,  got  in  his  harpoon  a  few  seconds  before  Daggett, 
who,  however,  claimed  to  have  been  ahead  and  therefore  en- 
titled to  carry  off  the  whale  or  share  in  it.  Both  Captains  sprang 
on  the  dead  whale  and  were  on  the  point  of  coming  to  blows, 
while  the  crews,  inspired  by  keen  rivalry,  looked  on  with  the 
greatest  excitement.  Before  the  crisis  was  reached,  Daggett 
recollected  that  if  he  should  kill  Roswell  he  would  lose  the  very 
object  of  his  voyage,  and  grumblingly  relinquished  his  claim. 

The  schooners  then  put  into  Rio  de  Janeiro  to  ship  their 
oil.  Roswell  was  able  to  send  home  a  supply  which  netted 
above  all  expenses  fully  four  thousand  dollars — very  well  for  one 
afternoon's  sport.  Great  was  the  joy  in  the  deacon's  household 
when  this  spoil  and  letters  for  Mary  and  her  uncle  arrived 
there. 

From  Rio  the  course  was  for  the  mysterious  seal  islands, 
the  bearing  of  which  Roswell  knew  but  which  Daggett  could 
not  find  without  him.  Now  or  never  was  the  time  for  him  to 
shake  loose  from  the  pertinacious  company  of  his  determined 
rival.     But  Daggett  clung  closer  than  a  brother. 

At  last  the  opportunity  came,  and  at  the  greatest  hazard 
Roswell  seized  the  chance.  It  was  blowing  very  fresh  as  the 
schooners  drew  near  the  Horn,  after  passing  the  Straits  of  Ma- 
gellan, and  the  seas  were  very  heavy.  But  on  board  the  Sea 
Lion  of  Oyster  Pond  was  an  old  seaman  of  great  experience  and 
fidelity,  and  of  sound  Christian  faith,  named  Stimson,  who  had 
been  several  times  through  the  terrible  straits.  The  weather 
came  up  very  thick  as  well  as  stormy.  During  one  of  the  in- 
tervals of  fog  Daggett's  schooner  lost  sight  of  Roswell's  boat, 
and  kept  on  through  the  main  channel  and  so  westward  beyond 
the  course  Roswell  had  in  mind.  Confiding  in  Stimson's  guid- 
ance, he  immediately  turned  into  a  nearer  but  more  dangerous 
channel,  and  carrying  sail  hard,  succeeded  by  the  utmost  reso- 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  429 

lution  and  skill  in  reaching  the  open  sea  and  headed  due  south 
toward  the  islands,  while  Daggett  was  heading  west,  if  not 
already  lost  amid  the  squalls  and  rugged  headlands  of  those 
fearful  waters.  Although  midwinter  north  of  the  Equator,  it 
was  midsummer  in  that  Antarctic  region;  hence  Roswell  was 
able  to  reach  the  islands  without  encountering  much  ice.  The 
island  sought  was  easily  distinguished  by  the  description  the 
deceased  Daggett  had  given  to  Deacon  Pratt.  A  safe,  splen- 
did harbor  was  found,  and  the  number  and  tameness  of  the 
seals  was  exactly  as  described. 

No  time  was  lost.  A  small  frame  house  used  in  building 
the  schooner  had  been  brought  and  was  now  put  up  and  used 
to  store  the  skins  of  the  seals,  which  were  killed  in  great  num- 
bers. Everything  was  going  well,  when  one  afternoon  a 
schooner  hove  in  sight,  which  proved  to  be  the  Vineyard  Lion. 
Missing  his  rival,  Daggett  had  cruised  in  every  quarter  in 
desperation  until  he  found  her.  It  was  useless  to  quarrel  over 
the  matter.  But  Daggett  broke  his  leg,  and  his  unruly  crew 
showed  so  little  common  sense  in  approaching  the  seals  as  al- 
most to  ruin  the  catch  for  both  vessels,  for  that  season  at  least. 
But  Roswell  by  this  time  was  almost  ready  to  leave  with  a  full 
cargo.  Daggett  urged  him  not  to  forsake  them  until  his  boat 
was  full.  Roswell  weakly  waited  several  weeks,  although 
risking  the  property  rights  of  his  owner.  On  one  plea  and 
another  Daggett  urged  him  to  remain  a  few  days  longer;  and 
when  the  vessels  finally  started  the  short  far-southern  summer 
was  over,  and  the  winter  ice  had  begun  to  form.  They  might 
still  have  escaped  if  Daggett  had  not  managed  to  get  under  an 
iceberg,  part  of  which  fell  on  his  schooner  in  such  a  way  as  to 
form  a  sort  of  archway  over  it.  There  she  was  doomed  to  re- 
main; and  it  was  too  late  for  Roswell  to  get  away  that  year. 
They  were  poorly  prepared  for  the  long,  fearful  winter  before 
them.  Of  provisions  there  was  a  fair  supply,  but  the  store  of 
wood  was  far  too  scanty  to  keep  them  alive  for  so  many  months; 
Roswell  therefore  caused  sealskins  to  be  nailed  double  to  the 
walls  of  the  hut,  thus  forming  a  welcome  lining.  The  galley- 
stove  was  put  in  and  wide  eaves  were  added.  But  after  a  time 
the  fuel  gave  out;  and  as  Daggett,  devoured  with  jealousy  and 
mulishness,  insisted  in  remaining  in  his  schooner  under  the 


43©  THE   SEA  LIONS 

canopy  of  ice,  instead  of  breaking  her  up  for  fuel,  Roswell  had 
to  use  some  of  the  upper  works  of  his  own  schooner.  The  cold 
was  so  awful  that  all  but  three  of  Daggett's  crew  of  seventeen 
men  froze  to  death;  and  in  trying  to  get  to  the  hut,  he  himself 
froze  his  lower  limbs,  and  came  by  the  mortification  that  en- 
sued to  a  miserable  end. 

The  spring  finally  came  back,  but  so  slowly  that  if  it  had 
lingered  a  fortnight  longer  not  a  soul  would  have  survived. 
The  hull  of  Roswell's  vessel  was  repaired,  and  she  finally  got 
away  with  a  two-thirds  cargo,  which  eventually  netted  twenty 
thousand  dollars.  When  they  at'  last  reached  the  West  Indies, 
Roswell  found  the  pirate's  island  and  treasure,  and  there 
secured  several  thousand  dollars  more,  although  less  than  was 
expected.  He  finally  arrived  home  after  being  given  up  for 
lost,  happily  in  time  to  see  Deacon  Pratt  before  he  passed 
away  after  a  lingering  illness. 

When  the  deacon's  will  was  read  it  was  found,  to  the  mor- 
tification of  most  of  his  relatives,  that  he  had  left  everything, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  unimportant  articles,  to  Roswell 
and  Mar\:,  with  an  earnest  exhortation  not  to  delay  their  mar- 
riage. This  advice  they  hastened  to  follow  when  Mary  learned 
that  the  perils  and  hardships  through  which  her  lover  had  passed 
had  caused  the  scales  to  fall  from  his  eyes  and  changed  his  re- 
ligious belief  to  accord  with  her  own. 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR   (1850) 

The  object  of  this  ston',  the  last  novel  written  by  Cooper,  is  to  draw  atten- 
tion to  some  of  the  social  evils  besetting  American  institutions,  especially  those 
in  connection  with  the  administration  of  justice.  Mr.  Cooper  argues  that 
trial  by  jury,  so  admirable  in  a  monarchy,  is  totally  unsuited  to  a  democracy; 
that  the  very  principle  that  renders  it  so  safe  where  there  is  a  great  cen- 
tral power  to  resist,  renders  it  unsafe  in  a  state  of  society  in  which  few  have 
sufficient  resolution  to  attempt  even  to  resist  popular  impulses.  In  a  democracy 
proper,  selection  of  the  material  necessary  to  render  juries  safe  becomes  nearly 
impossible;  and  in  a  state  of  society  like  our  own  juries  got  to  be  much  too 
independent  of  the  opinion  of  the  court.  But  the  great  difficulty  is  to  find  a 
substitute;  for  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  masses  will  surrender  voluntarily 
or  with  good-will  this  important  means  of  exercising  their  authority. 

|HE  scene  of  this  tale  is  in  and  around  New  York ; 
time,  the  first  half  of  the  eighteenth  ccntur}\ 
Thomas  Dunscomb,  a  trustworthy  and  sound 
legal  adviser,  was  a  resident  of  New  York.  With 
him  lived  a  nephew  and  a  niece,  John  and  Sarah 
Wilmeter,  familiarly  called  Jack  and  Sally.  The 
three  were  breakfasting  in  company  with  Michael 
Millington,  a  guest  of  Jack's  and  with  him  a 
student  in  the  office  of  Mr.  Dunscomb,  when  a 
visitor  entered  in  the  person  of  Dr.  Edward  McBrain.  The 
doctor  was  the  family  physician  and  the  bosom  friend  of  the 
lawyer,  the  two  liking  each  other  on  the  principle  of  attraction 
of  opposites.  The  lawyer  was  a  bachelor,  the  other  was  about 
to  marry  a  third  wife;  one  was  a  little  of  a  cynic,  the  other  a 
philanthropist;  one  cautious  to  excess,  the  other  absolutely 
impetuous  when  his  feelings  were  interested. 

Dr.  McBrain  had  come  thus  early  to  consult  the  lawyer  in 
a  case  which  interested  him  greatly.  He  was  the  owner  of  a 
small  place  called  TimbuUy  in  an  adjoining  county,  not  more 
than  fifteen  miles  from  his  town  house  in  Bleecker  Street.  He 
had  gone  thither  to  have  it  put  in  order  for  the  reception  of  his 
bride,  when  he  was  summoned  to  the  county  town  to  give 
evidence  as  a  medical  man  before  a  coroner's  jury.     A  house 

431 


432       THE  WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR 

in  Biberiy  had  been  burned  with  its  owners,  an  aged  couple, 
and  there  was  a  strong  suspicion  that  the  house  had  been  fired 
to  hide  the  crime  of  murder. 

The  village  of  Biberry  was  in  a  high  state  of  excitement  over 
the  affair,  the  old  couple  having  been  much  respected.  Mr. 
Goodwin  was  a  commonplace,  well-meaning  man,  of  no  great 
capacity,  and  his  wife  was  a  managing,  discreet,  pious  woman, 
even  more  respected  than  her  husband,  and  habitually  kind 
and  attentive  to  all  who  entered  her  dwelling.  The  charred 
remains  of  the  two  had  been  found  lying  together  in  the  ruins, 
and  were  shown  to  Dr.  McBride  on  a  table  in  the  court-house. 
Much  of  the  evidence  had  been  taken  when  he  arrived;  but  a 
witness  was  testifying  that  he  had  aided  in  helping  out  of  a 
window  a  young  woman  who  had  boarded  with  the  Goodwins, 
most  of  whose  clothes  and  other  belongings  had  been  saved. 

"This  looks  like  foul  play!"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  as  soon 
as  he  began  his  examination.  "  The  skulls  of  both  these  persons 
have  been  fractured  and,  it  would  seem,  by  the  same  blow." 

This  led  to  a  free  discussion  of  the  probability  of  arson  and 
murder.  Mrs.  Goodwin  was  reputed  to  have  had  considerable 
specie,  which  one  witness  testified  was  kept  in  an  old  stocking 
of  ]\Ir.  Goodwin's,  full  of  darns;  and  its  usual  place  of  deposit 
was  in  the  lower  drawer  of  a  chest  of  drawers.  This  chest  of 
drawers  had  been  opened  by  the  village  carpenter,  and  its  con- 
tents, female  apparel,  was  found  untouched,  but  the  stocking 
was  missing.  The  witness  testified'  also  that  some  of  the  money 
in  the  stocking  was  gold,  one  piece  of  which,  almost  as  large  as 
a  half-dollar,  was  a  peculiar  coin  easily  recognizable  by  any 
who  had  once  seen  it. 

To  complicate  the  case  still  further.  Dr.  McBride  had 
reached  the  conclusion,  though  the  condition  of  the  remains  was 
such  as  almost  to  baffle  investigation,  that  the  bones  were  those 
of  two  females.  When  questioned,  he  would  not  assert  this 
absolutely;  the  fire  had  made  sad  work,  but  in  his  own  mind 
there  were  few  doubts  on  the  subject,  for  he  was  a  skilled 
anatomist. 

As  soon  as  the  doctor  had  finished  his  examination,  he  ob- 
served that  all  eyes  in  the  court-room  were  centered  on  a  young 
woman  who  sat  apart,  and  who  seemed  to  be  laboring  under 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  433 

some  sort  of  nervous  shock.  Her  face  was  concealed  in  her 
handkerchief,  but  her  form  was  youthful  and  attractive,  and 
she  appeared  in  every  way  superior  to  those  around  her.  Her 
dress  was  simple  and  of  studied  modesty,  and  her  hands  were 
small  and  delicate.  On  inquiry,  the  doctor  found  that  she  was 
Miss  Mary  Monson,  and  that  she  had  been  residing  a  few  weeks 
in  the  house  of  the  Goodwins — as  a  boarder,  some  said,  while 
others  said  as  a  friend.  There  was  a  mystery  about  her,  for 
she  had  kept  aloof  from  society,  and  most  of  the  girls  of  Biberry 
had  called  her  proud  because  she  did  not  join  in  their  frivolities. 
Dr.  McBrain  saw  that  a  current  of  suspicion  was  setting  strongly 
against  this  friendless  girl,  and  he  at  once  determined  to  interest 
his  friend  Dunscomb  in  her  case. 

On  the  next  day  Dunscomb  accompanied  Dr.  McBrain  to 
Biberry  and  was  present  in  the  court-house  when  Mary  Mon- 
son was  called  as  a  witness.  As  she  was  obliged  to  remove  her 
hat  so  that  the  jurors  could  observe  her  countenance,  he  had  a 
good  opportunity  to  study  her.  She  appeared  to  be  about 
twenty  years  old;  her  features,  though  not  perfectly  regular, 
were  marked  by  a  mingling  of  intelligence,  softness,  spirit,  and 
feminine  innocence  that  did  not  fail  to  produce  a  favorable  im- 
pression on  all  who  saw  her. 

She  trembled  a  little  when  sworn,  and  when  asked  her  name, 
residence,  and  occupation,  her  face,  pale  before,  became  scarlet. 

Dunscomb,  seeing  her  dilemma,  arose  and  interposed. 

"As  a  member  of  the  bar,  I  interfere  in  behalf  of  the  wit- 
ness," he  said.  "She  is  evidently  unacquainted  with  her  true 
position  here  and  with  her  rights.  A  perfectly  innocent  person 
may  have  good  reasons  for  wishing  to  conceal  her  name.  It 
might  better  serve  the  ends  of  justice  to  allow  me  to  confer  with 
the  witness  in  private." 

"With  all  my  heart,  sir,"  said  the  coroner.  "Take  her  into 
one  of  the  jury  rooms,  Mr.  Dunscomb." 

Dunscomb  offered  his  arm  to  the  girl  and  led  her  out,  while 
other  witnesses  were  called.  In  about  an  hour  the  two  re- 
turned, the  lawyer  looking  very  grave,  the  girl  showing  signs  of 
weeping.  The  coroner  immediately  resumed  her  examination. 
Her  testimony  was  to  the  effect  that  she  was  known  in  and 
around  Biberry  as  Mary  Monson,  that  she  had  resided  with 

A.D.,  VOL.  v. — 28 


434       THE  WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR 

the  Goodwins  nine  weeks  to  a  day  when  tlic  fire  occurred;  that 
she  was  awakened  by  a  bright  light,  arose  and  dressed  herself, 
and  was  about  to  descend  the  stairs  when  she  found  it  was  too 
late.  She  then  went  to  a  window,  thinking  to  throw  her  bed 
out  and  to  let  herself  down  on  it,  when  two  men  raised  a  ladder 
by  which  she  escaped.  The  same  two  persons  entered  her  room, 
which  was  in  the  part  last  to  take  fire,  and  saved  most  of  her 
personal  effects  and  the  furniture. 

When  questioned  in  regard  to  gold  coins  in  her  possession, 
she  calmly  put  her  purse  into  the  coroner's  hand. 

"Here  are  seven  half -eagles,  two  quarter-eagles,  and  a 
strange  piece  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  before," 
remarked  the  coroner, 

"  It  is  an  Italian  coin,  of  the  value  of  about  twenty  dollars," 
said  Mary  quietly.  "I  kept  it  as  a  thing  a  little  out  of  the 
common." 

Mrs.  Pope,  who  had  testified  the  day  before  that  she  had 
seen  gold  coins  in  Mrs.  Goodwin's  stocking,  was  called  again 
and  asked  if  she  should  know  any  of  the  coins.  When  she 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  the  Italian  piece  was  shown  her 
and  she  immediately  exclaimed:  "That's  the  piece!  I'd  know 
it  among  a  thousand." 

The  piece  of  gold  was  passed  from  juror  to  juror,  and  each 
examined  it  carefully.  To  Dunscomb's  surprise,  Mary  Mon- 
son  betrayed  no  uneasiness  at  what  created  a  sensation  in  tlie 
court-room,  and  she  answered  calmly  aU  questions  regarding  it. 
The  coin,  she  averred,  had  been  in  her  possession  about  a  year. 
Mrs.  Goodwin  certainly  had  the  little  store  of  gold  to  which 
Mrs.  Pope  testified,  for  she  had  shown  it  to  her;  and  she  herself 
had  given  Mrs.  Goodwin  several  pieces.  No  doubt  Mrs.  Pope 
saw  the  counterpart  of  this  piece,  but  surely  not  the  piece  itself. 

Notwithstanding  this  explanation  and  the  calmness  and 
composure  of  the  young  woman  in  so  equivocal  a  position,  the 
jury  brought  in  a  verdict,  as  the  result  of  their  inquest,  of  mur- 
der in  the  first  degree,  and  Mary  Monson  was  at  once  arrested. 

John,  or  Jack,  Wilmeter  had  been  left  by  his  uncle  at  Bi- 
berry  to  look  after  the  welfare  of  their  strange  client,  and  the 
young  man  not  only  satisfied  himself  of  the  innocence  of  Mary 
but  proceeded  to  fall  in  love  with  her. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  435 

"I  should  as  soon  think  of  accusing  Sarah  of  such  a  dark 
offense  as  of  accusing  this  young  lady!"  exclaimed  John  to 
Michael  Millington,  "It  is  preposterous,  monstrous,  to  sup- 
pose that  a  young  educated  female  would,  or  could,  commit 
such  crimes!  Why,  Mike,  she  understands  French  and  Italian 
and  Spanish;  and  I  think  it  quite  likely  she  can  also  read  Ger- 
man, if  not  speak  it.  When  she  asked  for  some  of  her  own 
books  to  read,  I  found  she  had  selected  works  in  all  four  of  those 
languages." 

But  Mike  was  by  no  means  as  sanguine  as  his  friend;  and, 
notwithstanding  John's  lively  hopes,  his  judgment,  influenced 
perhaps  by  Mr.  Dunscomb's  expressed  fears,  inclined  to  the 
worst  forebodings  of  the  result. 

When  John  Wilmeter  called  at  the  jail  to  see  Miss  Monson, 
he  found  that  Mrs.  Gott,  the  jailer's  wife,  had  done  aU  she 
could  for  the  prisoner's  comfort.  She  had  put  a  carpet  in  the 
cell,  and  several  pieces  of  furniture,  and  had  also  carpeted  and 
furnished  the  gallery  in  front.  Miss  Monson  received  John 
cordially,  expressed  herself  as  well  pleased  with  what  had  been 
done  for  her,  and  said  she  felt  in  the  jail  a  sense  of  security  which 
she  had  not  known  for  months.  She  should  be  entirely  happy 
if  she  only  had  a  maid  servant. 

"I  know  the  very  woman  that  wiU  suit  you,"  said  John. 
"A  perfect  jewel  in  her  way,  a  Swiss — Marie  Mouhn." 

"Marie  Moulin!  Is  she  about  five-and-thirty,  shghtly  pock- 
marked, with  blue  eyes  and  yellowish  hair?" 

"The  very  same;  and  you  knew  her?" 

"  Beg  your  sister  to  tell  her  that  an  old  acquaintance  in  dis- 
tress implores  her  assistance.  That  will  bring  Marie  sooner 
than  money." 

The  next  morning  Marie  Moulin,  attended  by  John,  was 
admitted  to  the  jail.  The  young  man  did  not  go  to  the  cell, 
but  he  was  near  enough  to  hear: 

"C'est  bien  vous  done,  Marie! '^ 

"Mademoiselle!"  exclaimed  the  Swiss.  This  was  followed 
by  kisses  and  then  the  door  closed. 

After  this  John  Wilmeter  paid  two  regular  visits  to  the  grate 
each  day,  at  which  times  he  usually  saw  Marie  Moulin,  in  the 
back  of  the  cell,  sewing.     Miss  Monson,  who  seemed  not  in  the 


436       THE  WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR 

least  troubled  at  her  situation,  had  Imd  a  harp  brought  into  her 
cell  and  amused  herself  by  playing  it.  John  Wilmeter,  in  these 
frequent  interviews,  became  more  and  more  interested  in  this 
strange  woman  and  her  strange  case,  and  almost  forgot  an- 
other who  had  some  slight  claims  on  his  fealty.  His  sister 
Sarah's  intimate  friend  was  Anna  Updyke,  the  daughter  of  the 
widow  whom  Dr.  McBrain  was  about  to  marry.  Anna  was 
about  nineteen,  having  been  ''out"  only  two  years,  and  being 
an  attractive  girl  with  good  expectations,  had  many  suitors. 
There  had  never  been  any  love-making  directly  between  John 
and  Anna,  though  each  regarded  the  other  with  a  sort  of  fra- 
ternal affection. 

Anna  Updyke,  regarding  Miss  Monson  as  a  stranger  griev- 
ously wronged  and  knowing  John's  interest  in  her,  asked  Mr. 
Dunscomb  to  permit  her  to  visit  the  prisoner.  She  was  ac- 
cordingly taken  by  him  to  the  jail  and  soon  became  as  much 
entranced  with  her  as  seemed  to  be  the  fate  of  all  who  ap- 
proached the  circle  of  her  acquaintance.  When  Dunscomb 
returned  to  town  that  night,  he  left  Anna  Updyke  to  the  care  of 
Mrs.  Gott,  who  prepared  for  her  a  private  room  in  the  sheriff's 
dwelling  next  the  jail. 

Two  days  after  this,  Dunscomb  was  astonished  to  receive, 
late  in  the  evening,  a  call  from  two  visitors  muffled  in  shawls 
and  veils.  Throwing  aside  the  garments  that  concealed  their 
forms,  ]\Iary  Monson  and  Anna  Updyke  stood  before  him.  The 
first  was  self -composed  and  brilliantly  handsome;  her  compan- 
ion, flushed  with  excitement,  scarcely  less  so. 

"  You  know  how  difficult  it  is  for  me  to  travel  by  daylight," 
began  Miss  Monson  in  the  most  natural  manner;  "this  must 
explain  the  unseasonableness  of  this  visit.  Mr.  Timms  has 
written  me  a  letter  which  I  thought  it  might  be  well  to  show 
to  you.     There  it  is — read  it." 

Mr.  Timms  was  the  associate  counsel  engaged  by  Duns- 
comb to  aid  him  in  the  defense. 

"  Why,  this  is  much  like  a  conditional  proposal  of  marriage!" 
cried  Dunscomb. 

"I  forgot  the  opening  of  the  epistle,"  she  replied.  "A 
marriage  between  him  and  me  is  so  entirely  out  of  the  possi- 
bilities that  I  look  upon  his  advances  as  mere  embellishment. 


JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER  437 

It  is  the  business  part  of  the  letter  to  which  I  wish  to  call  your 
attention." 

"Why  is  this  shown  to  me?"  he  asked.  "You  know  it  is 
felony  to  assist  a  prisoner  in  an  attempt  to  escape." 

"  I  have  shown  it  to  you  because  I  have  not  the  remotest  in- 
tention to  attempt  anything  of  the  sort." 

"Why  are  you  here,  then?" 

"For  air,  exercise,  and  to  show  you  the  letter.  I  am  often 
in  town,  but  am  compelled,  for  more  reasons  than  you  are 
acquainted  with,  to  travel  by  night." 

"May  I  ask  how  you  get  out  of  jail  and  where  you  obtain 
a  vehicle  for  these  journeys?" 

"I  have  a  set  of  keys,"  she  answered,  "and  I  use  my  own 
carriage.  But  I  am  much  fatigued,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  and  must 
ask  permission  to  sleep  for  an  hour.  A  sofa  in  a  dark  room  is 
all  I  ask.     At  midnight  the  carriage  will  be  again  at  the  door." 

The  next  minute  she  was  stretched  on  a  sofa  and  covered 
with  a  shawl;  and  Dunscomb  went  with  Anna  to  her  mother's 
home. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,"  said  the  lawyer,  "we  shall  see  no  more 
of  Mary  Monson." 

"I  should  be  very  sorry,  sir,  to  think  that!" 

"  She  is  no  simpleton,  and  means  to  take  Timms's  advice. 
The  fellow  has  written  a  strong  letter  and  plainly  advises  her  to 
abscond." 

"  I  think  you  do  not  understand  Mary  Monson,  Uncle  Tom. 
She  would  rather  make  it  a  point  of  honor  to  remain  and  face 
any  accusation  whatever." 

Anna  was  right.  Mary  Monson  was  in  a  deep  sleep  on  the 
sofa  when  they  returned.  But  presently  the  carriage  came,  and 
she  appeared  refreshed  and  calmed  by  her  nap.  She  gave  her 
hand  to  Dunscomb  in  leave-taking,  and  the  lawyer  thought  he 
had  seldom  seen  anyone  of  more  distinguished  manners  or 
greater  personal  charms  than  this  mysterious  young  woman. 

As  the  time  of  Mary  Monson's  trial  drew  near,  the  com- 
munity rapidly  took  sides  on  the  subject  of  her  guilt  or  inno- 
cence. Many  stories  were  put  in  circulation  touching  her 
character,  history,  sayings,  and  doings,  most  of  which  had 
no    foundation    in    truth.     A    shrewd    lawyer,    called    Dick 


438       THE  WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR 

Williams  by  his  intimates,  and  Saucy  Williams  on  account  of 
his  methods,  engaged  to  aid  the  prosecuting  attorney,  was 
largely  responsible  for  the  circulation  of  these  reports;  for  the 
life  of  a  person  was  of  little  consequence  to  him  compared  with 
the  winning  of  a  case.  Attempts  were  made  to  create  prejudice 
against  her  by  representing  her  as  an  aristocrat.  "  I  have  never 
been  able  to  get  a  sight  of  her,"  said  Williams;  "she  is  too  much 
of  a  great  lady  to  be  seen  at  a  grate — plays  on  the  harp,  and  has 
a  French  valet  de  chambre,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

Just  before  the  trial,  Williams  came  to  Dunscomb  and 
Timms  at  the  hotel  and  offered  to  withdraw  all  extra  counsel, 
including  himself,  from  the  case,  provided  that  the  defense 
would  return  to  the  nephew  and  sole  heir  of  the  late  Peter 
Goodwin  five  thousand  dollars  in  gold.  Dunscomb,  feeling 
that  his  client  should  know  of  this  at  once,  went  to  the  jail  and 
laid  the  terms  before  her. 

"As  respects  the  money,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  that  can  be  here 
by  breakfast-time  to-morrow.  But  I  dislike  the  injustice  of 
the  thing.  As  I  have  never  touched  a  cent  of  poor  Mrs.  Good- 
win's hoard,  it  would  be  false  to  admit  that  I  am  returning  that 
which  I  never  received." 

"Our  case  is  not  absolutely  clear.  Miss  Monson;  it  is  my 
duty  to  tell  you  as  much!" 

"I  shall  be  acquitted,  gentlemen,  honorably,  triumphantly 
acquitted;  and  I  cannot  consent  to  lessen  the  impression  by 
putting  myself  in  the  way  of  being  even  suspected  of  collusion 
with  a  man  like  this  Saucy  Williams." 

A  long  conversation  ensued  in  which  Miss  Monson  ad- 
vanced peculiar  sentiments  in  regard  to  the  absolute  independ- 
ence of  women,  averring  that  men,  who  had  made  all  the  laws, 
had  dealt  unfairly  by  women  and  had  fashioned  everything  in 
their  own  favor.  Dunscomb  combated  her  ideas,  asserting 
that  God  created  woman  to  be  a  helpmeet  to  man,  but  always 
in  a  dependent  relation.  Miss  Monson  took  fire  at  his  remarks 
and  responded  haughtily: 

"  Your  comments,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  are  those  of  a  bachelor. 
I  have  heard  of  a  certain  Miss  Millington  who  once  had  an 
interest  in  you,  and  who,  if  living,  would  have  taught  you 
juster  sentiments  on  this  subject." 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER         ^        439 

Dunscomb  turned  white,  and  his  hand  and  lip  quivered. 
Anna  Updyke,  who  had  seen  a  similar  agitation  before  and 
knew  that  there  was  a  leaf  in  Uncle  Tom's  history  that  he  did 
not  wish  every  vulgar  eye  to  read,  offered  him  a  glass  of  water. 
Mary  Monson,  as  if  declining  further  communication  with  her 
counsel,  went  into  her  cell;  and  the  two  lawyers  quitted  the 
prison. 

WTien  Dunscomb  next  saw  Jack  Wilmeter  he  gave  him  some 
good  advice.  "When  you  marry.  Jack,  marry  a  woman,  not 
one  like  Mary  Monson,  but  such  a  girl  as  Anna  Updyke,  if  you 
can  get  her." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  John,  coloring,  "but  why  not  Mary 
Monson?" 

"Mary  Monson  is  a  wife  already,  and  I  fear  a  bad  one," 
said  the  counselor  hoarsely.  "  If  she  be  the  woman  I  suppose 
her  to  be,  her  history  is  a  lamentable  one.  To  you  my  early 
history  is  a  blank;  but  I  will  tell  you  in  a  few  words  all  you  need 
to  know.  I  was  about  your  age.  Jack,  when  I  loved  and  be- 
came engaged  to  Mary  Millington,  Michael's  great-aunt.  I  was 
cruelly,  heartlessly  jilted  for  a  richer  man.  She  married  and 
died,  leaving  one  daughter,  who  married  early  her  own  cousin, 
Frank  Millington.  Like  her  mother,  she  also  died  young, 
leaving  an  only  daughter  to  inherit  an  ample  fortune.  Frank 
Millington  went  early  to  Paris,  and  when  he  died,  Mildred 
Millington,  the  heiress  of  both  parents,  is  said  to  have  had  quite 
twenty  thousand  a  year.  Officious  friends  made  a  match  for 
her  with  a  Frenchman  of  family  but  small  means.  The  recent 
revolution  drove  them  to  this  country,  where  the  wife,  I  have 
been  told,  took  the  reins  of  domestic  government  into  her  own 
hands,  until  some  sort  of  a  separation  was  the  consequence.  I 
believe  Mary  Monson  to  be  this  person." 

"But  why  should  a  woman  of  twenty  thousand  a  year  be 
living  in  the  cottage  of  Peter  Goodwin?" 

"  Because  she  is  a  woman  of  twenty  thousand  a  year.  The 
lady  clings  to  her  dollars,  which  she  loves  more  than  her  hus- 
band. Monsieur  de  Larocheforte  naturally  desired  to  play 
something  more  than  a  puppet's  part  in  his  own  abode  and 
family;  a  quarrel  ensued,  and  she  chose  to  conceal  herself 
for   a   time   under   Peter   Goodwin's   roof,  to  evade   pursuit. 


440        THE  WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR 

Capricious  and  wrong-headed  women  do  a  thousand  strange 
things." 

Ivlary  JNIonson  was  brought  to  trial  on  the  charge  of  mur- 
dering Peter  Goodwin;  and  notwithstanding  the  efforts  of  her 
counsel  and  her  own  protestations  of  innocence  and  her  belief 
in  a  triumphant  acquittal,  was  found  guilty  and  condemned  to 
be  hanged. 

The  judge  had  hardly  pronounced  the  sentence  when  Mrs. 
Horton,  the  landlady  of  the  hotel,  forced  her  way  through  the 
crowd,  calling  out : 

"They  tell  me,  your  honor,  that  Mary  Monson  has  been 
found  guilty  of  the  murder  of  Peter  Goodwin!" 

"It  is  so,  my  good  woman;  but  that  case  is  ended.  Remove 
the  prisoner,  Mr.  Sheriff — time  is  precious — " 

"Yes,  your  fionor,  and  so  is  eternity.  Mary  Monson  is  no 
more  guilty  of  taking  the  life  of  Peter  Goodwin  than  I  am. 
I've  always  said  some  great  disgrace  would  befall  our  juries, 
and  now  my  prophecy  has  cortle  true.  Dukes  is  disgraced. 
Constable,  let  that  poor  man  come  in." 

A  driveling  old  man  tottered  forward  and  twenty  voices 
cried  aloud:  "Peter  Goodwin!" 

Bench,  bar,  jury,  witnesses,  and  audience  were  all  astounded 
at  this  unexpected  resurrection. 

"I  hope.  Brother  Dunscomb,  the  counsel  for  the  accused 
have  not  been  parties  to  this  deception?"  said  the  Judge. 

"I  am  as  much  taken  by  surprise  as  your  honor  can  possibly 
be,"  replied  Dunscomb. 

"There  are  still  two  indictments  pending  over  Mary  Mon- 
son. Mr.  District  Attorney  feels  the  necessity  of  trying  these 
cases,  or  one  of  them  at  least,  in  vindication  of  the  justice  of 
the  state  and  county.  I  trust  that  Dorothy  Goodwin  will  be 
brought  forward  at  once,  if  still  living." 

"Dorothy  Goodwin  is  dead,"  said  Mary  Monson  solemnly. 
"Poor  woman!  she  was  called  away  suddenly,  and  in  her  sins." 

The  whole  mystery  was  cleared  up  at  the  second  trial.  The 
fire  was  accidental ;  Peter  had  left  his  wife  the  night  before  to  go 
on  one  of  his  customary  sprees,  and  Mrs.  Goodwin  had  taken 
a  German  woman,  who  was  in  the  house  at  the  time,  to  sleep 
with  her.    A  plowshare,  kept  in  the  garret  overhead,  had  fallen 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  441 

and  inflicted  the  injury  on  both  skulls.  In  the  confusion,  Sarah 
Burton,  a  near  neighbor,  had  opened  the  drawer  and  removed 
the  stocking,  which  she  carried  to  her  own  house.  She  fancied 
herself  unseen — though  Mary  Monson  had  observed  the  move- 
ment— and  the  possession  of  the  treasure  excited  her  cupidity. 
Supposing  Mary  Monson  to  be  the  sort  of  person  that  rumor 
made  her  out  to  be,  she  saw  no  great  harm  in  giving  a  shove  to 
the  descending  culprit.  She  had  taken  the  notched  coin  from 
the  stocking  and  put  it  into  her  own  pocket.  When  the  purse 
of  Mary  Monson  was  examined,  she  was  near  by,  and  exchanged 
the  notched  piece  for  the  perfect  coin  from  the  purse.  All  these 
facts  were  gradually  extracted  from  her  on  cross-examination. 

Mary  Monson  was,  as  Dunscomb  suspected,  Mildred  Mill- 
ington  by  birth,  Madame  de  Larocheforte  by  marriage,  the 
granddaughter  of  the  very  woman  to  whom  he  had  been  be- 
trothed in  youth.  Her  marriage  was  unhappy,  and  it  was  sup- 
posed that  she  had  taken  up  her  abode  in  the  cottage  of  the 
Goodwins  to  avoid  her  husband.  Her  sanity  was  doubted  by 
some  who  knew  her  best,  and  her  behavior  was  a  source  of 
great  uneasiness  to  her  friends. 


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